


Times Like These

by ariel2me



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 55,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Robert Baratheon died, Rhaegar Targaryen did not kidnap or run away with Lyanna Stark, and Lyanna Stark married Stannis Baratheon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lyanna I

In the end choices were not really choices at all. A mirage at best. “You do not have to marry him,” her father had said. “The betrothal was with Robert, not his brother.” But Lyanna knew how much hope her father had put on joining House Stark with House Baratheon. A powerful and influential House in the south, with ties to the ruling Targaryens through a grandmother. More powerful than House Tully, whose elder daughter Brandon was betrothed to.

 _What does it matter who I marry? This lord or that lord_. Lyanna had given up on happiness the moment she saw the look on Elia Martell’s face as she walked in on her husband holding Lyanna’s hand. 

She had not been looking at Princess Elia’s face, or anyone else’s, when Rhaegar had presented her with the blue roses at the tourney. She had seen nothing, noticed nothing, perceived nothing.

_Except his face. Except his face. Except his face._

 She had grieved for Robert. Not just for Ned’s sake, but for her own. She _had_ loved Robert, perhaps more like a brother, but there had been love nonetheless. A hunting accident at the Vale. Ned blamed himself for not being there. Brandon had smirked and said if it had happened at Storm’s End, there might be cause to doubt that it _was_ an accident.

Lyanna had thanked the gods Ned was not there to hear that. But she was curious nonetheless.

“Why? Why would anyone think that?”

Because of Robert’s middle brother, Brandon explained. Stannis Baratheon. Everyone knew the two of them did not get along.

“From what Ned said of him-“

“But Ned likes everyone. And he trusts people too easily. You know that.”

She did not press the issue. Nor did she bring up the subject with Ned, mired in grief as he was. _Oh Ned, you still have your two brothers here,_ she wanted to tell him, but never did.

So when Stannis Baratheon finally came to Winterfell to “discuss the state of things”, as her father had put it, Lyanna was curious to meet this middle brother. Robert had not spoken of his brothers to her much, but she suspected Robert had never spoken to her about the things that really mattered, the way he had with Ned.

Her father had forbidden her from riding out with her brothers to meet his party.

“Southern men prefer their ladies gentle, in a dress and not a riding breech.”

“Robert never seemed to mind.”

“Robert is dead. This is his brother. We know almost nothing about him, except that he is a southerner.” Her father had snapped.

 _But father, you said I do not have to marry him if I do not wish to._ Lyanna did not bother voicing that thought to her father.

The eyes were what she noticed first. Purportedly looking at her straight in the eyes while they were talking, but not really. His gaze did not so much penetrate her, as it went through her as if she was a shadow. Unsubstantial, unreal to him.  

 _Look at me! I exist_ , she wanted to shout. _Your brother never saw me as I truly am, but at least he saw me, as a living, breathing, flesh and blood._

They had gone through all the required courtesies. He had corrected her calling him ‘Lord Stannis’.

“Lord Baratheon.”

“Pardon me?”

“It should be Lord Baratheon. The way your father is Lord Stark as Lord of Winterfell, and not Lord Rickard. I am Lord of Storm’s End after all.”

Lyanna was stunned. Could he truly be this callous, speaking of titles and what he is, now that his elder brother is dead, in front of the woman who was betrothed to his brother?

“Or you could call me Stannis. As you had called Robert by his name,” he added in a much quieter tone.

 _Well you are not Robert_. But she decided to forgo the ‘lord’ anyway. _Let’s see how uncomfortable a woman calling you by your name will make you, Stannis Baratheon._ She had a feeling it would make him very, very uncomfortable indeed.

“I think we both know what must be discussed, so perhaps we should begin, Stannis?”

She had expected his face to flush, but instead she saw the blood drained from it.

_Well you did ask me to call you ‘Stannis’._

“Will you consent to marrying me, in place of Robert, Lady Lyanna?”

Blunt and to the point. She might enjoy sparring with this man after all.

“Lyanna, please. It is only fair for me to return the courtesy. Should you not answer the question first? Do you consent to marrying the woman once betrothed to your brother? Perhaps you already have a choice of your own.”

_Let’s see if he can say ‘Lyanna’ without choking on his words._

“The fact that I asked the question implied my own intention, did it not? I would not have asked the question unless I was ready to marry you. I am not the beloved, admired man that my late brother was, but I will stick to my marriage vows, I can promise you that.” He paused. “Lyanna.”

He enunciated each syllable of her name clearly, for emphasis. And a subtle dig at Robert too. Lyanna had to stop herself from smiling. _You’re trying too hard to appear unconcerned, Stannis Baratheon._

“But perhaps,” he continued, after he realized she was not going to reply, “perhaps you have other  reasons for not wishing to marry me. Or even Robert, were he still alive.”

 _He knew. He knew about Rhaegar_. But how could he have known? And if he knew, did Robert know too? Robert had stayed at Winterfell after the tourney, his words and actions towards her did not indicate that he ever suspected anything.

 _It doesn’t matter_ , she realized. This man is not Robert, keen to live in an idealized world with the woman he idealized and idolized.

“I will not insult us both by pretending that I do not know what you were speaking of. Whatever it was that you may have heard about myself and Prince Rhaegar, it is no longer an issue. It had ceased being an issue after the tourney at Harrenhal. I was ready to marry Robert.”

“Ready to marry him, but not to love him? You were ready to marry my brother, yet your heart still belonged to another?”

She laughed inside at how quickly he had changed. From the insecurity of a little brother living in the shadow, to indignation on behalf of the elder brother, that he had somehow been disrespected, treated less than fairly, betrayed.

“Whatever it was I did or did not feel for the Prince, he is a married man. Nothing will ever come of it. And if we have betrayed anyone, it was only in our hearts.”

“Then I suppose there is no reason why we should not marry.”

 _Curious that he had not asked if I would continue the betrayal in my heart, after our marriage_ , Lyanna thought later. Surely that would have been the question foremost in any man’s, or any woman’s mind. But not Stannis Baratheon apparently.

So they were married, and Lyanna Stark of House Stark, Winterfell and the north became the mistress of Storm’s End. The first time Maester Cressen gave her the tour of the castle, with Renly trailing, holding on to her dress, it struck her that contrary to what she had always believed, Robert _had_ talked to her about something that mattered after all. 

He had told her about Storm’s End, in great and loving detail. Every room, every corridor, every corner. She knew where she should turn before Maester Cressen showed her the way.

“I will carry you in my arms into the castle, Lya. Shouting, ‘here is your mistress at last, come and greet her!’ Stannis will purse his lips and grind his teeth and said it’s undignified for the Lord of Storm’s End to behave this way, but I don’t care.”

Strange that I thought more of Robert than _him_ lately, she thought.

But of course she knew she should not be thinking of either one of them. It should be her husband in her thoughts. Stannis.

 _He is afraid of me_ , she realized. _No, not of me, but of the closeness of me._ Not the physical closeness, of two bodies intertwined, or even the ecstasy, as she had suspected in the beginning. It was not the joy and the release he feared, it was the moments in between. When you were looking at someone, _really_ looking at someone, and it revealed a fundamental truth about them. Whatever it was, he did not want her seeing it.

“A man in the throes of passion is not himself,” she had been taught by the septa at Winterfell before the wedding. “Men have … needs,” she was told, and if her husband was not as gentle as he could be, well, the more important thing was how he treated her the rest of the time, outside the bedroom.

She had thought this ridiculous. What would the septa, whom Lyanna had loved dearly, but had never married herself, know about marriage, or the marital bed? She wished she could have asked her mother, but her mother was long gone. Ned was the brother she was closest too, the one she spoke to about most things, but she knew that shy, gentle Ned had not had any experience with women. And Brandon, well, Brandon would have probably told her to spread her legs and do her duty to her husband. 

She had not realized at first, that first night at Storm’s End, that the room they were in was not meant as _their_ room, that it was _her_ bedchamber. Until he got up and started dressing. She could still hear the guests singing and hollering downstairs.

“Are you going back to the feast?”

There had been a feast to welcome the new mistress of Storm’s End. And to celebrate the wedding, for those who did not make it to Winterfell for their wedding. Maester Cressen must have arranged everything.

He looked surprised. “Why would I?”

“Then …”

“I’m going back to my room.”

Her parents had always shared the same room, until her mother’s death, when her father had moved into another room on another side of the castle, as far away from the one he had shared with his wife.

 _Is this punishment, for telling the truth about Rhaegar? Should I have lied?_ No, she thought. He is shrewd enough to have known. And he would have despised me for lying.

And more importantly, she would have despised herself.

He did not seem to notice anything was amiss. He acted as if it was the most natural thing in the world, leaving her in the middle of the night. And yet Lyanna had heard all the stories from Robert about his parents, and how loving they were to each other. Steffon and Cassana Baratheon certainly did not sleep in different rooms. So where did Stannis Baratheon get the idea that it was fine to treat his wife as if she was a whore, to be visited at his convenience, and then left alone? Certainly not from his parents.

_And yet I doubt he has ever been to a whorehouse._

She would not consent to be treated this way. She was not the type for tears and recriminations, and she knew neither would work with this man anyway.

She started dressing.

“If you are more comfortable in your own bedchamber, then we should make that our room.”

“But … I thought perhaps you would be more comfortable here.”

She looked around the sparsely decorated and furnished room. “It is not so wonderful that I will regret leaving it for another.” She stared at him, smiling the whole time.

He seemed like he wanted to say something else. His jaw clenched and unclenched several times. She lost count.

“Very well,” he finally said.

His room was even more sparsely furnished and decorated than the one they had just left, but it was bigger. She walked into the room ahead of him, looking around. He hesitated at the door.

“I will have my lady’s maids move my things from the other room in the morning.”

“But … how will … the squire, and the lady’s maid …”

She opened a door on the side, leading to a smaller room. His study. It was impeccably neat, not a piece of paper out of place.

“Your squire can dress you in the study, and I suppose you would have to remove yourself there too when my lady’s maids are in the room, to spare them any blushes. Would that work?” She gave him another smile.

 _He is thinking of other objections to make_ , she thought. _I will have the solution for those too, Stannis Baratheon._

Finally he said, “You seem to have thought of everything.”

“I am a Stark. We are always prepared for anything.”

Her husband was impatient, and blunt. His words and commands lacked the friendly veneer Robert’s words and commands had. Robert’s ferocity and will had been hidden behind all the jokes and backslapping. Robert’s anger could be explosive, terrifying even, as Ned said, but it was easily cooled, easily mended, easily forgotten.

Stannis’ anger was slow-building, but harder to dissipate. A command defied or not carried out to his satisfaction in the morning could still be begrudged at dinnertime. He nursed his anger silently at first, and the explosion, when it came, was more terrifying than Robert’s ever was. Because his anger felt more controlled, more deliberate, rather than Robert’s wild, uncontrolled expression.

But he had never yelled at her. Not once. They had not argued either. Well, she had argued, but he had always answered impassively. He had left most of the household running to her. She had made many changes. He had disliked some of them.

But it was usually Cressen who told her, not him. _My Lady, His Lordship wondered. My Lady, His Lordship suggested. My Lady, His Lordship thought perhaps._ All the verbs were the maester’s own, and not her husband’s, she knew. His would probably be closer to “tell her” and “let her know”.

 _Coward_ , she thought.

And yet at times she wondered if being married to someone like Stannis had its advantage. Robert would not have left her alone. He would have wanted to know what she was thinking, and feeling, at all times. “Are you happy? Do I make you as happy as much as you have made me?” He had often asked, after the betrothal. It had felt suffocating. She would have lied to Robert, probably. Stannis would never ask that question, she knew.

_Can any woman make him happy? Is Stannis even capable of happiness?_

_I would have made Robert happy. Perhaps not happy enough to be content with one bed, but certainly happier than his brother._

She did not ponder her own happiness. The look on Elia Martell’s face had killed any dream she had about love, or happiness. A love that could hurt another, to that degree, was not a love she wished to cherish. 

In bed one night, months after the wedding, she finally asked Stannis how, and what, he had known about her and Rhaegar. It was impulsive, she had not planned it.

“Nothing. I was not present at the tourney. I only heard about Rhaegar crowning you Queen of Love and Beauty over his wife.”

“And that was enough to make you suspect something?”

“You confirmed it, when we met for the first time.”

“Do you want to know what actually happened?”

A long pause. “I know … nothing truly happened. Our first night, there was … blood-“

“That is not the only kind of betrayal there is.”

“You and Robert were only betrothed. You were not yet married.”

“Rhaegar was married.”

“Then it was him who betrayed his wife.”

“But she looked at _me_. Not him.”

“Who?”

“Elia. Princess Elia. His wife.”

“When he gave you the blue roses? Of course, it’s only natural that-“

“No, not then. Later. When Rhaegar and I met later. We were … talking, and he took my hand …”

Their right hands had been clasped together, hers and Stannis, a remnant of their coupling earlier. She could feel his grip loosening. _Not this hand_ , she wanted to say. _It was the other one._ In truth, she could not remember now which hand it had been.

She heard her husband took a deep breath. His grip tightened again. He nodded. “Go on, finish your story.”

“Elia saw us. And she had this … look on her face.”

“If she was angry at you, but not at her husband, then she is a fool.”

She shook her head. “No, she was not angry. Or even sad. She was … resigned. Hopeless. Beyond anger or sadness. He asked me to run away with him. And I wanted to say yes, despite father, my brothers, Robert, home, duty, everything. But her face … I couldn’t.”

He was silent, and breathing so quietly for so long she wondered if he had fallen asleep. But no, he appeared to be deep in thought.

“What are you thinking?”

“Prince Rhaegar seemed more thoughtless and reckless that I thought. I have always assumed that he is .. more stable than his father. But if he was willing to throw everything away for a woman … What would Dorne have done, if Princess Elia was treated that way? And Robert? Your father? How could he have considered forsaking his duty for love?”

She did not know whether to laugh or weep. She had told Stannis something she had never told anyone, even her dearest and closest brother Ned, and his response had been an examination of Rhaegar Targaryen’s fitness as a ruler.

“I did not consider those things either.”

“You are not the heir to the Throne. And you told him no. You were the one who decided.”

“You have never asked me if I loved him.”

“Does it matter?”

“To you, or to me?”

“To … us, I suppose. You said ‘loved’, not ‘love’. Why should it matter now?”

 _Because you are a man who nursed your grievances like a dog with a bone. A man who forgets nothing._ But Lyanna did not say this to her husband.

She could see that he was struggling to find more words.

“I thought it would be enough.” She broke the silence, long after it had become unbearable to her.

“What would be?”

“This. Us. Together, but apart.”

“If I am … cold, or less than I should be to you, it is not because of you and Rhaegar. Or you and Robert.”

He had turned his face away from her, as he was saying those words. She put her hand on his cheek, and turned his face to look at her once more.

“I know. And somehow that made it even worse.”

They were looking at each other, really looking at each other, for the first time.

“It is not a one way road,” he said.

“I know. It is not only your heart that saddens me, my own does too,” she said.

“So what do we do?” He asked.

“Our duty,” she replied.

She leaned for the kiss, but he was faster. His lips reached hers first.


	2. Stannis I

She had married him for duty, he had always believed. The truth, as always, turned out to be not as simple. It was because of duty. It was not, strictly speaking, merely because of duty. It was because of a look on another woman’s face. It was not, strictly speaking, merely because of a look on another woman’s face.

She had married him out of despair, he finally concluded. And guilt. That she had caused pain to another, with a love she had once cherished. What did that make him? Her way of punishing herself? Her way of expiating her guilt and regret?

_Her husband. It makes me her husband. No more and no less._ Repeating the words to himself did not make him believe them more.

Her newfound openness perplexed him. Robert, even amidst his infatuation and idolization of Lyanna Stark, had let slip one disappointment. “She’s so … reserved. I don’t know what she’s thinking most of the time.”

“She barely knows you,” Stannis had replied without much interest. “What do you expect, that she will tell you all her _hopes_ and _dreams_ and how _ecstatic_ she is about marrying you?” Robert had not been amused.

Yet since that night she finally told him all that had transpired between herself, Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia, it was as if a floodgate had been opened. She told him many, many things. Things she said she had not shared even with Ned.

She told him about fighting at the tourney. About Rhaegar finding her and unmasking her, but keeping her secret.

_So it was not merely a silly and shallow infatuation, crowning her Queen of Love and Beauty_. The thought ought to be somewhat reassuring - at least the Crown Prince seemed to still have _some_ sense -and yet it was not reassuring at all. He did not understand why.

She told him of her tears listening to Rhaegar’s song. “I thought my tears were for his pain, but they were all for mine. Mine and mine alone.”

He did not know what to say to that. _Did you hate it that much? The thought of marrying my brother?_ He wanted to ask, but never could.

_Did you cry too, when you knew you had to marry Robert’s brother? That his death in fact did not set you free?_

If he was truly honest with himself, what perplexed him more, in fact, what alarmed him more, was her obvious expectation that he would reciprocate the gesture. That he would also tell her things he had never told anyone.

“Have you ever loved anyone?”

“My parents, of course. Renly.” He paused. “Robert too, I suppose,” he continued grudgingly.

“No … I meant, a woman.”

“My mother is a woman.”

She laughed. “Oh Stannis! That’s beneath you. Taking refuge in technicalities.”

“It’s the truth,” he insisted, and changed the subject to Renly’s unruly behavior that morning.

It was a life of sort they were building, one he had never envisioned for himself. Lord of Storm’s End. Husband of Lyanna Stark of House Stark and Winterfell. He woke up each morning feeling a pretender. No, he was already a pretender every night in her bed. Every touch, every caress, every kiss, every … union, he thought, _this should not be me, here._ He refused to meet her eyes. Those shrewd eyes, they would know, would see through him, would cut through his defenses as easy as a sharp knife cutting through butter.

She was not unhappy. She was not happy. She was beyond all that, the way she said the look on Elia Martell’s face was beyond anger and sadness. She was merely numb.

One day, she announced, out of the blue, “I’ve decided to be happy. I’ve decided to stop punishing myself.”

He had not been wrong after all, about her reason for marrying him. And yet, it finally dawned on him, what choice did she have, in the matter? She would wed the man her father wanted her to wed. Her ‘reason’ did not matter in the slightest in the end.

_Was that the pain that made you cry, listening to Rhaegar’s song?_

Instead like the fool that he was, he merely said, “I didn’t know that’s the kind of thing you can just decide, and it will come true.”

Miraculously, she did not seem disappointed with his reply. She raised her eyebrows. “Of course it is. Deciding is the crucial step. Until you have decided, you won’t start doing the work required to make it come true.”

He found it hard to believe at times that she was younger than him. It was as if she had already lived a thousand different lives, lives that he had not shared with her, and had no way of understanding.

“Don’t you want to know why?” She asked.

“Why?”

“Why should you want to know? Because you are my husband, it is your duty to know. And to ask, if you don’t know.”

His face turned red. “No … I meant, why have you decided to be happy? To stop punishing yourself?”

“Because a child deserves more from the parents than mere _not_ unhappiness. It is not enough to be not unhappy, when you are a parent.”

Robert would have grabbed her and spun her around the dining room. Cheered, hooted and yelled, for all the world to know. He was not his brother, but he was still Lyanna Stark’s husband. He slid his hand across the dining table and grasped hers. “I have decided too,” he said.

“To be happy?” She asked.

He nodded.

She chuckled. “Perhaps that is a journey too far for you at the moment. Perhaps you can decide to be _not_ unhappy. For now. I expect more from you, of course. In time.”

Two days later a raven arrived from King’s Landing, with a letter from His Grace the king summoning the Lord of Storm’s End and his bride to the city to attend Prince Rhaegar’s nameday celebration. “We have decided,” Stannis repeated the words to himself, over and over again. “We have decided in favor of happiness.”


	3. Lyanna II

Her husband had said nothing when he showed her the letter. A command from a king, not an invitation.

“I can’t go. I won’t. I am with child, I cannot travel. Tell them that. Maester Cressen will vouch for that.”

“Very well.”

“It’s not because of him. It’s her. It’s because of her. I cannot …”

“You don’t have to go,” he said, his tone gentler this time, but his expression still betraying nothing. _Tell_ _me what you are thinking_ , she wanted to shout. _Do you believe me?_

She knew what his answer would be. _Do you believe yourself?_ He would have said. And she would have disliked him for that. So she did not ask him the question, because she had decided to be happy.

Did she believe herself? She did not ask herself that question either.

In the end she decided that she would go. Because her father, brothers and new sister-in-law would be there. Because the distance between Storm’s End and King’s Landing was shorter than the distance between Storm’s End and Winterfell. Because she wanted to prove a point to her husband. Because she wanted to prove a point to herself.

_He is nothing to me. Nothing at all._

At times it seemed to her that the world was full of people trying to prove a point, either to themselves or to other people. Brandon’s wedding to Catelyn Tully had been full of them. Barbrey Ryswell smiling and flirting with Ned, while her eyes stared daggers at Catelyn Tully when she thought no one was watching. That strange ward of Lord Tully, whose name Lyanna could not recall now, all attention and soft words to Catelyn’s younger sister, while his eyes stared daggers at Brandon, when he thought no one was watching.

_Run, Ned. You deserve more than to be her second choice._

But she knew Ned was in no real danger from Barbrey Ryswell. Their father would never allow the match, for one thing. _A Lannister perhaps, for Eddard_ , Lyanna had heard the maester speaking with her father. _Pity the Tyrell has no daughter at a suitable age for Ned_ , her father had replied.

_Run, Lysa. His eyes do not see you. Only your sister._

She wanted to say this to this woman she did not know. This fragile girl she did not know. Catelyn’s younger sister. Lysa Tully was not trying to prove a point to anyone.

Lyanna’s husband had no one to tell him to run. Not even Maester Cressen, who loved him like a son, but treated him like a lord, and thought it not his place to meddle in matters of the heart.

She wished she had known him before the wedding, had cared for him then the way she did now. She would have been the one to tell him to run.

_Run, Stannis. She is a woman who does not know her own heart._


	4. Stannis II

There was a defiant glint in her eyes when she told him she would go with him to King’s Landing after all. He could not understand it at first. He had not said anything, or done anything, to suggest to her that he did not want her to come.

Or perhaps, he thought later, it was defiance towards her own true wishes. She was going despite herself, despite her own wish. For his sake?

“You don’t have to go. If you don’t want to,” he finally said to her, two days before they were due to depart. Preparations had been made, arrangements had been finalized, yet it took him that long to get those words out.

She had been looking out the window, staring at the sea that was looking calm and untroubled for once. She turned around to look at him. “What did you say? I’m sorry, I was …distracted for a minute.”

She had been distracted for days. Since the letter came.

“I said, you don’t have to go. To King’s Landing. If you don’t want to.”

Her brow creased. She stared at him for a long while, before asking, “Would you prefer me not to go?”

“No. Of course not. I mean … that is, I don’t prefer that you go either.”

 “I would like to see my father. And Brandon, Ned and Benjen. To tell them the news myself. About the baby.”

He had forgotten that they would be there too. “Of course. I thought …”

She waited for him to finish his sentence. When he did not, she stood up and walked towards him, her hands taking hold of his. “You thought what?”

“Nothing. It’s …”

_only a silly thought I had_

“… not important.”

“I’m coming with you. To King’s Landing,” Renly suddenly announced at dinner that night.

“No, you’re not. Now stop fidgeting and finish your dinner,” Stannis replied without looking up from his own plate.

“Yes, I am!” The sound of a spoon being bashed repeatedly on the table grated on Stannis’ nerves, but he resolved to ignore the childish tantrum. Paying attention to it would only encourage Renly.

“Tell him, Lya. Tell him I can go with you. Tell him!” Renly finally turned his effort to his sister-in-law, once he realized his brother was determined to ignore him. But she was lost in her own thoughts and did not seem to hear him.

Lya. That was her brothers’ name for her. And Robert’s. But never Stannis. And certainly not Renly. Where had Renly heard of that? He must have remembered Robert using it. And who said he could call her that?

“I said no! You’re not going, and that’s that.”

Lyanna glared at him. _Do you have to yell at him? He’s only a child_ , her expression was clearly saying.

“I want to go!” It was Renly’s hand hitting the table repeatedly now, instead of the spoon.

“Renly.” A word from Lyanna was all it took for him to stop, however. Renly took his hands off the table immediately.

“We’ll be back soon. We won’t be gone for long,” Lyanna said, smoothing back Renly’s unruly hair. _He needs a haircut_ , Stannis thought.

“What if you don’t come back? Robert went away and he didn’t come back. Mother and father went away and they didn’t come back.”

“Of course we’ll be back. It’s only King’s Landing, it’s not that far,” Lyanna replied.

“Do you promise?”

It was Stannis who replied. “You always want people to promise things. It’s not always possible for people to keep their promises. You’re growing older now. You need to know that some things are out of our control.” He recalled Robert’s promise to Renly before he left for the Vale for the last time. “And people shouldn’t make promises they don’t know they can keep,” he snapped.

Renly started crying. Lyanna was hugging him, telling him that he must stay at Storm’s End while his brother was away. “There must always be a Baratheon at Storm’s End.”

Renly perked up listening to that. “Like there must always be a Stark at Winterfell?”

“Yes. How did you know that?” Lyanna smiled.

“Robert told me. I’ll stay. I’ll take care of things here while Stannis is gone.”

 _Just what we need_ , Stannis thought. _Renly playing at being Lord of Storm’s End._

They argued afterwards, husband and wife.

“He’s only a boy, you don’t have to be so harsh with him.”

“And you shouldn’t make promises you cannot keep.”

“I didn’t promise him anything.”

It was the first time they had raised their voices to each other. Shocked recognition filled their faces.

“Forgive me,” he said, “I should not have raised my voice.”

She laughed. “Our very first fight.”

“Hardly a fight, we’re just disagreeing,” he replied.

 “A fight,” she insisted.

He accepted that. “Strange that it’s about Renly.”

“Not so strange. That’s what parents usually fight about, their children.”

“Renly is not our child. He’s my brother.”

“No, but we _are_ raising him. Together.”

He had never thought of it that way before. Renly was his younger brother, his responsibility since the death of their parents and Robert decamping back to the Vale where he had been fostered.

“As we will raise this child together, when he, or she, comes,” she continued, her hand touching her still-flat belly.

 _Our child_ , he thought.

“You disapprove of my ways with Renly. And you’re afraid I will be the same with … with our child. Harsh. Unloving.” It was a statement, not a question.

“You love him. I know that you love him. But children, well, they cannot read our minds. I just wish ... you would show him more affection.”

“Robert showed him plenty of affection. When he was home, that is. The rare times that he _was_ here. Then he went back to the Vale and forgot all about Renly.”

_About us._

“This is not about Robert. Renly is a boy who lost his mother and father before he ever knew them.”

He knew that, knew that better than anyone. But Renly had been spoilt and cosseted by everyone in the castle since the death of Steffon and Cassana Baratheon. Someone had to be the one laying down the law, or his little brother would grow up to be a selfish man thinking of nothing but his own wants and needs. He had never felt the need to explain this to anyone before, but he desperately needed his wife to understand now. And yet words failed him. Inexplicably, and completely unfairly, he knew, he was crossed with her.

_Why don’t you know this already? You with your gift, with your eyes that always see more than I want you to see. Why don’t you see this? Why don’t you understand this?_

_Or has your understanding failed you, because someone else is in your mind?_

He recalled that she had not actually promised Renly that they would be back. She had told him that they would be back, but she had not promised him.  


	5. Lyanna III

Her father looked older. And annoyed. His delight at her news did not last long, the corner of his mouth curdled when he caught sight of Lord Tywin and his daughter. “His offer was rebuffed,” Benjen had written to Lyanna. “And not in a very kind way.”

Lyanna was not surprised. What was her father thinking? Ned, dear, sweet, gentle Ned, one of the best men Lyanna ever knew, but for all that, he was still only a second son. He would not be Lord Stark of Winterfell. He would not be inheriting any castle. The proud Lord Tywin would not be content with that for his one and only daughter.

“Now it’s the daughter of one of father’s bannermen for Ned. To ease the discontent among them for marrying off both you and Brandon to southerners,” Benjen had continued in his letter. “It will be my turn next. Maybe I’ll join the Night’s Watch instead.”

 “Don’t do anything rash,” she had written him back.

 _Like I almost did_ , she had thought, but not written.

 _At least you have other options_ , she had also thought, but not written to her brother. At least men had other options. The Night’s Watch, the Kingsguard, training to be a maester, all considered honorable paths for sons of noblemen not inclined to wed according to their fathers’ wishes. Or not inclined to wed at all.

 _He loves his children_ , Lyanna thought, as her father’s attention turned towards her again, asking her questions about the maester at Storm’s End. _He is not a bad man. He is not doing anything all the other lords in the kingdom are not doing as well._

It was just the way things were.

“Perhaps I should send our own maester to Storm’s End, once your delivery day is near. He’s known you all your life, it would be safer.”

She glanced at her husband to see his reaction to that, but his face was the way it had been since they arrived at King’s Landing. A cipher.

“There is no need, Father. Truly. Maester Cressen is very skilled. He has been delivering babies for years. He delivered Lord Steffon himself, Stannis’ father.”

“I wish you’re not so far away from us. I worry,” her father said, touching her right hand.

 _Perhaps you should have married me off to someone living closer to Winterfell then_ , a bitter voice replied in her head. She drove the nails of her fingers into her left palm to silence the voice, and smiled for her father.

“I know. But we’ll send a raven immediately. And you can come to see the baby. And to see Storm’s End. You’ve never seen it.”

“Why not come now, Lord Stark? Before you go back to Winterfell. It is not that far from here,” her husband suddenly spoke. It surprised her. They had not discussed this.

“What’s the matter, Stannis? You don’t want us coming to Storm’s End once the baby is born?” Brandon was jesting, she knew. But she also knew her husband would not take it as a jest. He was already frowning.

“Don’t be silly, Brandon. You can come whenever you want. Only, since you are all here at King’s Landing now, it’s easier to make the journey.” She glared pointedly at her brother, who laughed and said, “It’s only a jest, Lya. You’ve grown so serious now, so prim and proper. Marriage has changed you.”

And marriage didn’t seem to have changed Brandon at all, Lyanna thought, as she spotted Brandon smiling too brightly at a succession of women throughout the day.

“Brandon is not still up to his old ways, is he?” She asked Ned later, when they finally had a chance to speak alone, just the two of them.

“Old ways?”

“Oh Ned, you know what I mean.”

“He loves his wife,” Ned insisted.

“Remember what I said about Robert, when we were betrothed? Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man’s nature.”

“He would have loved you. He would have tried to … to be better, for you.”

“You still miss him, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Is that why you’ve been staying at the Vale?” Her father had not been pleased, Benjen had reported in one of his letters.

“Jon misses Robert too. And if I could be of some solace to him … And Winterfell, well, Winterfell feels like Brandon’s home now. Now that he’s brought his bride home.”

“Father is still Lord of Winterfell. It is still your home, Ned.”

“Is it?” His smile was wry and sad at the same time.

She thought of Robert growing up away, and apart, from his own brothers. _My children will never be fostered away from home and hearth and family_ , she promised herself. _I will have my way in that, if nothing else._

“What about you, Lya?” Ned asked.

“What about me?”

“Are you … happy?”

“I am to be a mother. I have to be happy.”

“ _Have to_?”

“For the sake of this baby.”

“Not for your own sake?”

“You ask too many questions, dearest Ned.”

“Does he … does he love you? Your husband.”

She pondered the question for a long while. “I don’t know. But I do not know if I love him either. Perhaps that is for the best. It is worse for a marriage if the love is only from one side.”

“Why can’t it be from both?”

Her dearest brother, older than her, but more naïve in some ways.

“What is love anyway, Ned? I care for my husband, and he cares for me. We are … kind to each other, or at least we try to be. That is enough, I should think.”

“Is it enough for you, Lya? Truly?”

“It has to be,” she insisted, whether to convince herself or to convince Ned, she was not certain.

“Why did you ask them to come to Storm’s End now?” She asked her husband that night.

He looked contrite. “I’m sorry. I should have discussed it with you first. Having so many guests when you are already under so much pressure. I thought it makes sense for them to come, since they are so close to Storm’s End.”

“It’s fine. They’re not guests, they’re my family.” _What did he mean by ‘under so much pressure’?_

But they _would_ be guests to her husband. She wondered if it would make him uncomfortable, having them at Storm’s End. Of course it would, she realized. He was already clenching and unclenching his jaw, as if in anticipation of a painful ordeal. She would be woken up later in the night by the sound of his teeth grinding, she was certain.

Her family thought him odd, she knew. So different from Robert with his friendly, back-slapping ways. “Unfriendly,” Benjen had said. “A prig, a very unpleasant prig,” Brandon had said. “Why does he always look like the sky has fallen down?” Her father had asked, but only after the wedding, only after the alliance had been secured. Ned was the only one who had not said anything either way.

The only family Stannis had left had adored Lyanna from the very first moment she set foot inside Storm’s End. Renly treated her like a mother, sister and savior rolled into one.

Would Stannis’ father and mother have liked her, if they were still alive? Or would they think her odd too, a wild northern girl lacking the fine courtesies and refinements of southern women?

“Would your parents have agreed to the match? If they were still alive?” She asked her husband.

“The match?”

“Robert marrying me. Or you marrying me.”

He was silent for a long time. “I don’t know,” he finally answered.

 _Well, at least he’s being honest_ , she thought.

“I used to do it all the time, wondering, what would Mother think? What would Mother do? What would Father think? What would Father do? At some point … I realized … I can’t know the answer. I don’t remember them well enough to know. In fact, I never knew them well enough to know,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper.

She had not expected this. Her hand touching his cheek gently, she replied, “My father is still living and I can’t tell what he might think, or do, either. I don’t think we can ever truly know our parents.”

“Maybe not,” he said, smiling a smile that seemed more a grimace, but a smile still.

It was only after her husband had fallen asleep, and she was drifting into the land of dreams herself that Lyanna realized that she had not thought of the two people who had consumed her thoughts for weeks at all that day. She had not thought of the Crown Prince and his wife even once that day.


	6. Stannis III

“Find a bride for my son, cousin. He has no sister to wed.” That had been the mission, commanded by a king.

“I grieve for them,” the prince had said, to the sons of Steffon and Cassana Baratheon, his eyes indeed, full of grief. _The poor, melancholic prince,_ people had said. His life besieged by tragedy, from the day he was born, during the great fire at Summerhall.

“He is beloved, the stuff of songs and stories. Why shouldn’t our parents’ death be appropriated as _his_ tragedy too? _His_ great sorrow,” Stannis had replied to Robert’s complaints. Robert had been surprised, and angry. Stannis had not been. How could you be surprised, or angry, at something you knew would happen in the first place?

How beloved would he still be if people knew? That he had contemplated breaking his vows to his wife?

 _Probably more beloved. The figure of romance to many_ , Stannis scoffed. It occurred to him, not for the first time, that he disliked most people. Their foolish notions and trivial pursuits and frivolous concerns.

Rhaegar Targaryen seemed to be the furthest thing from the Stark brothers’ minds.

“Lyanna would have wielded a sword, if Father would have let her,” Ned had told Stannis.

“Father!” Brandon had scoffed. “Even our lord Father could not change the way of the world for his daughter. Women do not fight.”

“The Mormont women do. They fight to protect their homes and lands from the Ironborn,” Benjen had said. “And anyway, Lya was always a better swordsman than you. And a better rider. You’re just jealous, Brandon.”

“Better than me? I don’t think so. But certainly better than you,” Brandon had replied. “And probably better than you, Stannis.”

The brotherly banter was beyond Stannis. He had listened in silence, his eyes darting from one brother to another. Had wondered too if Robert had joined in on the banter, on the occasions when he had met all three Stark brothers. Or if Robert had felt out of place, his brotherhood with Ned a thing in its own right, not expansive enough to encompass all the Stark brothers.

_Or Robert’s own brothers._

“Promise me our children will never be fostered, and separated from one another,” Lyanna had whispered in his ear, late one night. He had pretended to be asleep. He had not promised her that.

He wondered now, after listening to her brothers’ words, what her dreams had been about. Before she was a wife. Before she was a wife who had to extract a promise from her husband about their future children.

He wondered too, if Rhaegar Targaryen had promised her anything.

He was left alone with Ned Stark when Brandon got up to look for his wife, and Benjen was summoned by his father. A still-grieving Ned Stark, from the look and sound of it. Grieving for the man who was not really a brother, a man who had real brothers of his own.

Except they _were_ brothers, in all the ways that mattered, Stannis knew. Ned and Robert. In all the ways that really counted. He did not doubt the sincerity of Ned’s grief for Robert, just as he had not doubted the sincerity of Rhaegar Targaryen’s grief for his parents, years ago.

Not doubting their sincerity, however, did not make him like them any better.

“There is a delicate matter I wish to speak to you about, Stannis.” Ned’s voice was uncertain.

“Regarding?”

“Robert. Well ... a … a … child of his. In the Vale.”

“You mean his bastard?” Stannis was not mincing words.

Ned flinched at the word ‘bastard’, before continuing. “His daughter. Mya. Mya Stone. Robert … was very fond of her. He visited her from time to time, playing with her. No doubt if he had lived, he would have made further arrangements regarding her future.”

“Did he acknowledge this child as his bastard?”

“Yes, he did, to me. And it is …well, it is common knowledge at the Vale, who this child’s father is. She looks so like him. The hair. The eyes.” Ned had a faraway look in his eyes.

“And what is it that you wish for me to do?”

“For this child to be taken care of. Robert would have wanted that.”

Stannis did not share Ned’s certainty about what Robert would have wanted. Or would have done, had he lived.

“The child will be provided for. House Baratheon does not shirk our duty, even to baseborn children. But she must remain at the Vale,” Stannis replied.

“Of course.” Ned looked taken aback. “I was not suggesting that she should be brought to Storm’s End. Not at all.”

Stannis wondered if Lyanna had known. He doubted that Ned had told her.

But would Ned have told her, if she had asked?

Even the closest people held secrets from one another. Lyanna had not told even Ned, her closest brother, about Rhaegar Targaryen. What secrets would Ned have kept from his sister, for Robert’s sake?

“Is Renly well?” Ned asked suddenly.

“Yes,” Stannis replied stiffly.

“Not … missing his brother?”

“Children recover quickly. And Robert was not often home.” He did not regret the bluntness of his words.

Ned did not speak of Robert again after that. They stayed silent for a while, before talking about the coming tourney. Brandon and Benjen would be fighting, but not Ned. And not Stannis.

And not Rhaegar Targaryen. Not at the tourney celebrating his own nameday.

Later in the day, when they caught sight of the Crown Prince striding through the field, and their eyes followed him carefully as he made his way to the raised dais, Stannis wondered if contrary to Lyanna’s belief, Ned had known something after all. Or had suspected something, at least.

Their eyes met across the table, Stannis’ and Ned’s, after Rhaegar Targaryen finally found his seat. Next to his wife. Ned was the first to look away.


	7. Lyanna IV

Her sister-in-law reminded Lyanna of her late mother. Or perhaps, Lyanna revised her thoughts, it was more that Catelyn was acting like a mother towards her, fussing about the pregnancy, worrying about the journey back from King’s Landing to Storm’s End, wondering if perhaps Lyanna should take up her father’s offer to send the maester from Winterfell to deliver her baby.

_She has been like a mother to her younger sister and brother for years, since her own mother’s death_ , Lyanna reminded herself. _Perhaps she is missing them, living so far away from them now._

Catelyn also reminded Lyanna of Stannis, in a strange way, even though they seemed nothing alike from the outside. Her sister-in-law was excellent with all the common courtesies - unlike Lyanna’s husband - greeting this lord and that lord, remembering who was just married, who was having a child, who had lost a child, who was having trouble with a rebellious bannerman or a troublesome neighboring lord. But now and then, Lyanna detected a glimpse of the stubborn and unyielding look she had often seen in her husband’s eyes in Catelyn’s own eyes.

_This is the way it must be,_ that look seemed to be saying. _Whether we like it or not_.

_Because it is our duty,_ Stannis would have added. Lyanna wondered if Catelyn would have said the same thing.

They had been talking about the strangeness of leaving their own home for another. For the home of a husband.

“I think I am still getting used to the way of the north,” Catelyn said, with a smile.

“Our god, you mean?”

“That, and much more. Your father very kindly commanded a small sept to be built at Winterfell. Is there a godswood at Storm’s End?”

“Yes. Robert had arranged it, after the betrothal,” Lyanna replied.

“Robert? Not … Lord Stannis?”

In truth, Lyanna had not set foot in the godswood since the day she arrived at Storm’s End, when Maester Cressen had shown it to her. She was not even certain Stannis knew of its existence. But then again, she did not think her husband would care which god she did or did not worship. He very rarely set foot in the sept to pray to the Seven himself.

They met Brandon on their way back to the pavilion. “Cat!” He shouted in excitement. Catelyn was smiling, a genuine smile that softened her features and made her look almost like a girl. Brandon wanted to show his wife a place he had spoken to her about, close to the Red Keep. Lyanna lost the thread of the conversation; it was as if the two of them were speaking in a secret language she was not privy to. She envied them.

But after they left, she thought of Brandon smiling, laughing and flirting with a succession of women, while his wife was out of sight. Was that the extent of it now? Looking and flirting? Or was there more? He was not looking at any other woman when Catelyn was in front of him. They had seemed to be truly enjoying each other’s company, Catelyn laughing at Brandon’s japes, Brandon listening attentively to Catelyn’s news about this lord and that lord.

_If you love someone, why would you take another person to bed? Why would you flirt with another person? Why would you even look at another person?_

Because like she had told Ned once, love could not change a man’s nature.

Her sister-in-law struck her as one of the least naïve women she had ever met. Catelyn could not be truly blind to Brandon’s fault. Did she consider it her duty, as a wife, to endure it?

Her thoughts turned to the duel Brandon had fought with Lord Tully’s ward. “Challenged by a green boy for Cat’s hand in marriage,” Brandon had told his brothers and sister, and laughed about it for days afterwards. He had spared the boy’s life for Catelyn’s sake. What would Robert have done, if she had gone with Rhaegar? Rhaegar was no green boy, no mere ward of anyone. He was the Crown Prince. Would Robert have dared to challenge a king’s son and heir? He was impulsive enough, Lyanna thought, his fury simmering close to the surface often enough for him to do something foolish he might later regret.  

And her brothers and father? What would they have done? And Dorne. The humiliation directed at Princess Elia. What would they have done? And the king, suspicious and paranoid of his own son. What would he have done?

“He thinks I want his throne.”

“You will sit on the throne, after his death. You are his heir.”

“He thinks I want his throne right now, that I wish to set him aside, that I am plotting with various lords to set him aside and steal his throne.”

“Are you?”

He had laughed. “You are very bold, my lady.”

“I do not know the way of kings and princes, but I have heard all the stories. Disturbing stories, about your father.”

“Don’t tell me you believe in mere stories.”

“No, but now that I have seen him, and his conduct, with my own eyes …”

_Enough!_ She admonished herself. _Do not think of that conversation. Do not think of any of our conversations. Do not think of his fear or his sadness or his uncertainty. Do not think of his joy or his smile or his laughter. Do not think of him._ She thought of the look on Princess Elia’s face instead.

_Delicate_ , Lyanna had heard some calling the princess. _Weak_ , others had whispered. But there was nothing weak or delicate about the look on her face, the moment she saw Lyanna and Rhaegar holding hands. It was a look beyond anger and sadness, but what Lyanna remembered most was how dignified she had looked as she was walking away. _I would not debase myself by making a scene_ , every fiber of her body seemed to be screaming, as she made her way quietly out of the tent.

Lyanna was too busy recalling the past, it took her a while to realize that she was actually standing face to face with the princess now. With Princess Elia and her ladies-in-waiting, who were making their way to the raised dais, where Queen Rhaella and her younger son Viserys were already seated.

_I should not have come. I should not have come. I should not have come._

She should not have come, for the princess’ sake. She had been thinking only of herself, and her own discomfort, and had not spared a thought for Elia Martell’s discomfort.

“My princess,” she curtsied, trying mightily to keep her expression normal.

The ladies-in-waiting were staring daggers at her. Could they know? Did she tell them, the princess? One look at the princess’ face told her that she did not. But Lyanna was still the woman the Rhaegar Targaryen had crowned as Queen of Love and Beauty over his own wife. Even without … everything else, that was scandalous enough.

_How dare she shows her face?_ The women were probably thinking. _How dare she walks around in the presence of the princess as if nothing had happened?_

_I did not ask for the honor_ , she wanted to defend herself. _I could not have refused it, not in front of everyone._

She could have refused to speak with him, later. She could have refused to open her heart to him, later. Her defense was incomplete, only partially true.

Princess Elia was smiling. “Lady Baratheon. I was sad to hear of the death of your betrothed, Lord Robert Baratheon.”

“It was very sudden and unexpected, my princess.”

“And you are now wed to his brother? Lord Stannis Baratheon? I have not had the honor of meeting him. I hope you are not finding living in the south too strange. It took me a while to get used to King’s Landing too.”

The smile and the kind words, even if they were meant only for the sake of appearance, were sharper than any knives could be, and cut deeper than any swords could have. _Don’t! Don’t be kind to me. Don’t give a warning glance to your ladies-in-waiting to stop their angry stares._

“We should go, my princess. The queen is waiting,” one of the ladies-in-waiting spoke.

As she watched Princess Elia walking away, Lyanna’s suddenly muddled thoughts turned to Robert and Brandon. And _him_. She had dreaded the thought of marrying Robert, knowing his predilections, expecting him to father a string of bastards all over the Seven Kingdoms even after their marriage. She had judged her own brother harshly, on the same ground. But she had not judged _him_ , the married man who had contemplated running away with another woman.

_Because judging him meant I would have to judge myself too. His folly was my folly too._

Was it folly? She would have called it love, once upon a time.

Her husband’s words rang in her ears. _You told him no._ _You were the one who decided._

Not him.

_Why did I have to be the one who saved us from the brink? I was a girl. You were a man, a man with duties and responsibilities. To your people. To your kingdom. To your wife._

_To your children._

_Duty._ The voice in her head sounded like her own, but the words could have come straight from her husband’s mouth.

She was losing herself. Amidst her guilt and her grief and her uncertainties, she was losing herself.

Was this how she would see the world from here onwards? The way her husband did, as an endless series of duty?

Or perhaps she was merely regaining a semblance of her old self. Before _him_. Before she had let _him_ in her heart.

She would not have called it duty, her old self. She would have called it “considering the consequences of your actions.” She would have called it “not being reckless.” 

_How do you know?_ She despaired. _How can you tell for sure?_

The self that she had truly been. The self that she thought she had been. The self that she thought she always was, and always would be.

_How far could you blame love for losing yourself?_

Her greatest fear, she finally admitted to herself, was that the recklessness had always been in her, from the very beginning. Love was merely the catalyst.

_How far could you blame marriage for losing yourself?_

 

 

 

 


	8. Stannis IV

Silence was something he had always welcomed, but the lengthy silence between him and Ned was beginning to trouble Stannis. Ned was not only avoiding conversation, he could not seem to look at Stannis either.

_What do you know, Ned? Of your sister and the prince?_

What did it matter? Lyanna had told him everything herself.

_Had she?_

She was back at the pavilion, sitting next to him before he realized it. Wondering why they were being so quiet, her brother and her husband.

“What is there to say?” Stannis replied. Ned was too busy trying to avoid his sister's gaze to reply. Another uncomfortable silence enveloped them, finally broken by the arrival of a Kingsguard. Barely older than a boy, this one was.

This must be the son of Lord Tywin Lannister, Stannis thought. The newest member of the Kingsguard.

His voice was not a boy's voice, however. “His Grace the king commands Lord Stannis Baratheon to present his new bride at the royal pavilion.”

Hardly new, Stannis thought. He and Lyanna had been married for many moons.

Lyanna's face paled. She was looking at the royal pavilion. King Aerys, Queen Rhaella, the young prince Viserys, Princess Elia, and Prince Rhaegar were all sitting at the raised dais. Stannis stood up and started following the boy Kingsguard, before realizing that his wife was still sitting down. He turned back and held out his hand to her. Lyanna did not notice his gesture, she was still staring at the royal pavilion. Stannis followed her gaze.

Who was she watching?

Elia? Or Rhaegar?

_It’s not because of him. It’s her. It’s because of her._ She had told him that, when she refused to come to King's Landing. Before she had changed her mind.

Ned was calling his sister's name insistently. “Lyanna.” That broke through her reverie. She finally noticed Stannis' outstretched hand, grasped it with her own, and stood up. Stannis was about to release her hand after they started walking, but she tightened her own grasp. They made their way to the royal pavilion hand-in-hand.

“Your Grace, may I present my lady wife, Lady Lyanna of House Stark.”

“You did not invite me to your wedding,” the king was grumbling. “The son of my dear cousin was getting married, and I was not invited. If your father was still alive, he would have invited me. But his son did not even have the courtesy to invite his king. And his lord father's own cousin.”

The look of the king was a great shock to Stannis. Robert had been the one spending time at court as Lord of Storm's End, even though he had spent very little time at Storm's End himself, preferring to be at the Vale, leaving Storm’s End in the hands of the castellan and Stannis. And the king had not left King's Landing for years, except to go to the tourney at Harrenhal. And so Stannis had not seen him since he was a boy.

“Forgive me, Your Grace. I did write to you about the wedding. I did not know that you wished to attend. I thought perhaps the journey would have been too tiring – “

“Storm's End is not that far from King's Landing. And I am well. I am always well. Whose whispers and lies and poisonous words have you been listening to? My son?”

_His son? Does he mean Prince Rhaegar?_ Stannis did not know what troubled water was there between father and son.

“The wedding was held at Winterfell, Your Grace, not Storm's End,” Stannis replied.

“I can go to Winterfell. I am strong enough to travel to Winterfell. Or anywhere. They didn't want me to come to the tourney at Harrenhal. Oh, I know, I always know. They whisper and plot behind my back, but I know. I have my own little birds too.”

Stannis wondered who “they” were.

The king turned his face to look at Lyanna, who had been looking down the whole time. “Hold up your face, child. Let me see you.” Lyanna obeyed the command.

“I know you. Where have I seen your face before?”

_Surely the king remembers_ , Stannis thought. He was present at the tourney at Harrenhal.

It was the queen who spoke up. “Lady Lyanna was betrothed to Robert, our cousin Steffon's older son, dear husband. Robert showed us a picture of his betrothed the last time he was at court, before his sad and untimely death.”

The queen had not been present at Harrenhal.

“I know who Robert is!” The king was shouting. “Do you think I have lost all my senses that I do not know the son of my own cousin?” His hand, with the long, sharp and uncared for fingernails, was digging into her arm. The queen was biting her lips, pretending not to notice, pretending not to feel anything.

“Father,” Prince Rhaegar spoke for the first time. The king looked at his son with an expression close to hatred. Aerys finally removed his hand from his wife's arm, and spoke to Stannis again.

“So you have married her in place of your poor brother. That is as it should be,” he nodded vigorously. His hand was suddenly grabbing Stannis' arm, hard. “Tell me, Stannis, are your stormlords loyal to me?”

“They are loyal to their king and their liege lord, Your Grace,” Stannis replied.

“And you? What about you? Can I count on the loyalty of the Lord of Storm's End?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The king scoffed, his grip on Stannis' arm tightening. “They all say that, all these high and mighty lords. And then they plot and plan behind my back. And not just them, my own blood too.” The king motioned for Stannis to come closer, and whispered in his ears. ”Remember, you and I share some of the same blood. You have Targaryen blood flowing inside you too, from your grandmother. You must stay loyal to me! You must! Even against my own blood.”

“I am loyal to my king, Your Grace. That is my duty.”

“Good, good.” The king released Stannis' arm, and turned his attention to Lyanna again. “When will you do _your_ duty and give your husband an heir?'

Lyanna's face turned red. Stannis was the one who answered. “My wife is with child, Your Grace.”

“You are very lucky in your choice of wife. My own only gave me sons, with no sisters to wed them. The bloodline, it must be pure. It must! But now a half-Dornish boy will inherit the Targaryen throne one day.”

_How could he say these things in front of his wife? And his Dornish daughter-in-law?_ Stannis wondered. Unlike her husband, Elia Martell did not flinch listening to the king's words, Stannis noticed. The queen looked like she was not there, staring straight ahead, her eyes seeing nothing. Perhaps she had not heard her husband's words. But as Stannis and Lyanna were leaving after being dismissed by the king, she turned towards them and smiled. “Take good care of your wife, Lord Stannis. The early stages of a pregnancy can be very challenging.”

He and Lyanna did not speak on the way back to their pavilion. Lyanna's father was back at the pavilion, talking to Ned, his expression grave and serious. Benjen waylaid them at the entrance. “Let's get something to drink,” he said. Stannis declined. He did not want a drink.

“Father is talking to Ned about marriage and a good match and his duty,” Benjen whispered. _“_ Do you really want to be there for that?”

They ended up walking instead of drinking. They walked so far, they ended up outside the tourney ground, Lyanna and Benjen talking the whole way. “Who?” Stannis heard Lyanna asking. “Does Father already have a woman in mind?”

“He's still undecided,” Benjen replied. “But it is definitely to be the daughter of one of his bannermen.”

They reached a lake with a grassy shore. “Let's stop here,” Lyanna said. Stannis surveyed the area. It was secluded, it did not seem safe to him. Tourneys were famous for attracting all sorts of people.

“Perhaps we should find a more ... open and public place,” Stannis replied.

Benjen laughed. “You are with your own wife, Stannis. Are you worried people might say this is an improper assignation?”

The youngest Stark brother mystified Stannis. Benjen was usually the voice of reason when Brandon was around. Ned usually stayed silent, deferring to his older brother, Benjen was the one who would respond to Brandon. But when Brandon was not around, he turned out to be the one acting foolish and saying foolish things.

Benjen and Lyanna were already laying down their cloaks on the ground. They sat down, but Stannis remained standing. Lyanna motioned for him to sit next to her. Stannis shook his head. Lyanna and Benjen continued their conversation.

“You would think Father could wait until they're back at Winterfell to speak of Ned's marriage.” There was a bitterness in her voice now that he had not detected when she was speaking to her father before.

“He hasn't had a chance to speak to Ned before. Ned came here straight from the Vale,” Benjen replied.  

“Father could command his children to marry whomever he wants, but he could not command Ned to come home to Winterfell? Ned would never disobey Father, in that, or anything else.”

“Pride. He wants Ned to _want_ to be at Winterfell, not come home because he commanded it.”

“But not when it comes to marriage?”

Benjen sighed. “There seems to be a great haste for that now. There are certain … rumors going around. Ned has been spending a lot of time visiting a child. At the Vale. Perhaps that is why he prefers to stay there rather than at Winterfell.”

Lyanna was laughing. “And Father is worried that this is Ned’s child? His bastard? Is Father confusing his two oldest sons from each other? This is Ned we're talking about, not Brandon.”

“Yes, but it would be just like Ned to want to care for his bastard, if he does have one,” Benjen said.

“It is not Ned's bastard. The child at the Vale. It's Robert's. Perhaps with Robert dead, Ned feels he has some sort of responsibility.”

So Lyanna had known after all. Stannis turned his attention to the lake, staring straight ahead, pretending not to hear what his wife had said. She was not fooled, however. As they were making their way back to the tourney ground, she whispered to him, “You know about it too, don't you?” He nodded.

 


	9. Lyanna V

Her dream was not of _him_ , or his voice, that night. When he had said that one word, ‘Father’, she had thought her heart would stop beating. A voice she had not heard in ages. They had avoided looking at each other, even glancing at each other, the whole time she was at the king’s pavilion. It was deliberate on her part, and she knew, as much as she knew anything at all, that it was deliberate on his part too.

Instead, she dreamt of her husband. And the king. Riding into a great storm.

“What did he whisper to you earlier? His Grace?” Lyanna had asked her husband as they were preparing for bed.

“He wanted to know if the stormlords would be loyal to him. If I would be loyal to him,” Stannis replied, without looking at her.

“That’s an odd question to ask. In peacetime. It’s not like there’s a war going on.”

“I suppose,” her husband shrugged.

“What did you tell him?”

“That he is my king, it is my duty to be loyal to him.” Stannis paused, hesitated for a moment before continuing. “He mentioned my Targaryen blood for some reason. It’s … odd.”

Lyanna smiled. “I forgot about that sometimes. Your Targaryen blood.”

“It’s not anything worth remembering. I never even met my Targaryen grandmother, she was dead long before I was born.”

“Still, it’s strange to think that your father and the king are cousins. Were they close?”

He turned to look at her, his expression wary and distracted. Surely her question about his father and the king could not be the source of that?

“I don’t know,” he finally replied. “But I know that my father was concerned about His Grace. Towards … well, towards the end. _He’s surrounded by vipers and liars whispering poisonous words in his ears,_ I heard him say to my mother more than once.”

“He seems to think that everyone is against him. The king, I mean,” Lyanna said.

“Perhaps they are,” had been Stannis’ final words on the matter.

She could not fall asleep again, after being awakened by her dream. She had called out to her husband in the dream, but he had not turned around. _Let me see your face_ , she had implored. _Turn around._ Her plea had fallen on deaf ears. He had ridden straight into the path of the storm, following his king. The king had been laughing and cackling all the way, the sound of his laughter chilling Lyanna to the bones.

She stared at her husband’s sleeping face now, lying next to her, safe from the storm. It was a plain face, she knew. His hair was already thinning, she envisioned him going completely bald in ten, fifteen years. Perhaps even less. He was grinding his teeth in his sleep again, the sound reverberating in the silent room. The mouth that rarely smiled and almost never laughed was shaped into a grimace suddenly. Perhaps he was having a bad dream of his own.

He was mumbling something under his breath, something she could not catch. Should she wake him? Before she could decide, bottomless blue eyes were staring at her, looking dazed and confused. Confusion turned quickly to alarm.  

“What’s wrong?” He asked. “Did something happen?”

“You were having a bad dream.”

He looked embarrassed. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I was already awake.”

“You can’t sleep? Is it the baby?”

She laughed. “No. It’s too early for the baby to start kicking, you know.”

“Then …”

“I was dreaming too. And it woke me.”

“Something unpleasant?”

“Something … that I don’t understand. Yet.”

_Ask me what it is_ , she implored in her head. _So I can ask you about your dream too._

“We’ve both had a long day,” was all he said, however. They were still staring at each other.

_There’s something you want to ask me. Not about my dream, but about something else_ , she finally realized.

For the briefest of moment, she thought he was about to ask his question, his mouth opening, only to snap shut again. He was gazing at her so intently, it was as if he was seeing her, truly seeing her, for the very first time. Before she realized what she was doing, she had started kissing him. Her husband responded at first, but then stopped.

“What are you trying to prove to yourself?” He asked.

The words felt like a slap, even though his tone was sad rather than angry. She had not been trying to prove anything, to herself or to her husband, this time. The unfairness of the accusation angered her. Lyanna turned her face away.

“You told me once it didn’t matter. If I loved him. Were those merely words?” She said after a while.

“I was … different … then. Marriage has made me different. _You_ have made me different.”

“So it’s my fault?”

“No, it’s mine. For allowing it to happen.”

She had thought she was the only one who feared losing herself - in this marriage, in this union, in this life they were trying to build - but perhaps it was a fear her husband had shared too.

_How far could you blame marriage for losing yourself?_ She had wondered before.

Or maybe ‘blame’ was the wrong word. Maybe it was something that just happened, naturally, when two people were trying to build a life together. In the push-and-pull of who she was, and who he was, and trying to find a common space to occupy, together.

_If that is the case,_ Lyanna wondered _, then why are we both resisting it so hard?_


	10. Stannis V

_Were you thinking of him when you were kissing me?_

_Or did you kiss me to try to erase the thought of him?_

He did not know which possibility would be worse, and so never asked the question.

 _What are you trying to prove to yourself?_ He had asked her instead. She had looked at him as if he had committed a great betrayal. But what had he betrayed, exactly? The illusion they were trying to maintain that happiness was a possibility for them? The illusion she wanted to preserve that nothing had changed between them?

 _We were better off when I did not care_ , he thought. When it did not matter to him what she felt, or thought, about Rhaegar Targaryen. When he could not care less what was, or was not, in her heart. He wanted desperately to blame her. His wife. Lyanna. For showing him hopeful glimpses of something else. For making him want to banish the coldness from his own heart. But in the end, he blamed only himself.

 _I should have known better._ The constant refrain of his life.

He should have known better than to believe that the gods would protect his mother and his father.

He should have known better than to believe that Robert would miss his brothers, when he had a new one waiting at the Eyrie.

He should have known better than to believe that happiness was something he was capable of.

They were lying side by side, not sleeping, not talking, not touching, faces turned away from each other. He counted the rise and fall of her breathing, imagined the thoughts running through her head, tried to envision the fear running through her heart. What was it she feared, exactly?

 _Living a life she does not wish to live_ , a voice replied in his head. _With a man she does not wish to live it with._ He thought the voice sounded like Rhaegar's at first, but it was only his own harsh voice. Deriding him. Mocking him.

 _We said the vows, we are married, we are having a child together. This is our life now, whatever our wishes might be._ _It is our duty._

She was getting restless, tossing and turning next to him. Or perhaps she had fallen asleep, and was troubled by a dream again? He turned his face slightly to sneak a glance. She was wide awake, staring at the ceiling. He finally understood what she had really meant when she told him about the expression on Elia Martell's face. He saw it on Lyanna's face now. Resignation. Hopelessness. A look beyond anger or sadness.

His breath caught. _Did I cause this? Did I do this to you? The way Rhaegar did to his wife? Not with the things that I did, but with all the things that I didn't do._

He had not asked her about her dream, for one. The dream that had troubled her enough to wake her from her sleep.

He stared at the ceiling too, trying to see what it was she was seeing. “What was the dream that woke you before?” He blurted out, before he lost the courage.

She did not reply for ages. Did not take her eyes off the ceiling, or even gave any indication that she had heard his question. He repeated the question.

“Why do you want to know?” She finally asked, her eyes still fixated on the ceiling. Not looking at him.

His own eyes strayed from the ceiling to look at her. He caught her glancing at him very briefly, before she turned her eyes upward again. He was looking at her as he answered her question.

“Because I am your husband, and it is my duty to know. And to ask, if I do not know. You told me that once.”

She finally turned to look at him. “I didn't think you'd remember that.”

“I remember everything,” he replied.

“I wish … you'd forget some things. Let go of certain things, not hold on to things for so long,” she said softly, her voice barely a whisper.

“You wish that I am different. That I am not who I am.”

“No!” She protested, her voice much louder suddenly. “Just … sometimes …I wish … ” She paused. “You are not the only one who is different now, you know. Marriage has made me different too. _You_ have made me different too.”

“And that makes you sad?” He asked.

“Yes. No … I don't know. It makes me afraid, actually. Afraid that I won't be who I am anymore. That everything would just be … drowned out. Doesn't that scare you too?”

 _Does it?_ He had never examined the question before. “I don't know,” he replied. “I don't think I can ever really be anything other than who I am. As I am now.”

He realized with a jolt that it was that thought that truly terrified him. Not the thought of marriage or Lyanna making him different, but the thought that he was not capable of ever being different. Of changing. Of crossing the distance between them and meeting her somewhere in the middle. Lyanna must have known that too, when she talked of her fear of being drowned out.

He cannot promise her anything about himself. Only about what he would never ask of her. “I don't expect you to be anyone other than yourself.”

She smiled, a sad, wry smile. “Oh, Stannis. It's not about what _you_ expect. It's about … me. Myself. I don't think I can explain it. Not now anyway.”

“I'll wait until you can,” he replied.

Her hand was suddenly touching his face. She brought her lips closer to his ears, and whispered. “I dreamt of you. And the king. Riding into a great big storm.”

“His Grace?” That was a surprise.

“I begged you not to go with him. But you wouldn't listen. You wouldn't even turn around so I could look at your face. And then you both … just … disappeared. Like you were never there in the first place.”

He swept back the hair falling messily over her eyes. “It was only a dream. It doesn't mean anything.”

“How far would you follow him? His Grace?” Her voice was insistent, almost desperate.

“He is my king.”

“And it is your duty to be loyal to him?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Will you promise me one thing? That you will remember your duty to your family too? To .. your wife, and your little brother.” She took his hand and placed it on her belly. “And to our child.”

“I promise.”

“Thank you,” she smiled. “Now tell me about your dream.”

 _I dreamt that we grew old together. And you were sad and unhappy. And full of regrets._ He could not tell his wife this. Would not tell his wife this. But he could not lie to her either. So he borrowed her words instead.

“I … don't think I can explain it. Not now anyway.” This was not an untruth, he told himself. He truly did not understand why he had dreamt what he did.

She frowned at first, but then burst into a laugh. “I'll wait until you can,” she said, after she had stopped laughing.

 


	11. Lyanna VI

It was the last day of the tourney marking the Crown Prince's nameday. Benjen had been defeated on the first day, having the misfortune to be matched with Jaime Lannister in the first round. Brandon had made it as far as the last four, only to be defeated by Jon Connington. Jaime Lannister, the boy Kingsguard who had made defeating his other opponents looked so easy, turned out to be not much of a threat to Oberyn Martell, who managed to unhorse him only a few minutes into their battle.

The final joust between Jon Connington and Oberyn Martell, however, was a different affair altogether. Lyanna thought it would never end. The two men traded blows after blows, broke lances after lances, from midday until the sun was almost setting.

“It's almost dark. Surely the king will call a halt to this,” Brandon said at one point.

“His Grace is enjoying the spectacle,” Lyanna's father had replied, his tone harsh. “No doubt he would enjoy it more if fire is somehow involved. Perhaps they could introduce flaming lances for future tourneys.”

“Father.” Brandon shot a warning glance to his father. Lyanna could not decipher the looks passing between her father and her eldest brother. She caught Ned and Catelyn staring at Brandon and her father too, their expressions as mystified as her own. Only Benjen seemed oblivious to the tension, his attention focused on Jon Connington and Oberyn Martell, still battling it out on the field.

Lyanna's husband was oblivious too. Stannis had tired of the battle ages ago, Lyanna knew, his eyes fixed on the field where the two men were fighting, but his thoughts wandering far, far away. She touched his arm lightly. He turned to look at her. Brought his head closer to hers, and whispered, “Do you want to leave?”

Leave? Surely they could not leave before the match was over, Lyanna thought. Jon Connington was one of Stannis' own bannermen, House Connington one of the houses sworn to House Baratheon. It would be taken as a grave insult if the Lord of Storm's End and his lady wife left the tourney ground before the battle ended. Her husband must be well-aware of this. She studied his expression. He was studiously avoiding her eyes. She shook her head and said, “No, I'm sure it will be over soon.”

It was not, in fact, over, until more than an hour later, when Jon Connington, his reflexes slower after a long, hard-fought battle, was finally too slow to take the reins to control his horse. He fell down to the ground, and Oberyn Martell pounced immediately.

“Too bad,” Brandon said. “If Jon Connington had won, he could have named Prince Rhaegar as his queen of love and beauty.” A few knights and squires sitting in the tent with them snickered and laughed along with Brandon. Lyanna stared at her brother uncomprehendingly. She did not understand what the men had found so funny.

Oberyn Martell was riding his horse straight to the royal pavilion. He did not stop until he reached Princess Elia. He was naming his own sister as queen of love and beauty. His eyes were not looking at his sister as he was presenting the bouquet of flowers to her, however. His eyes were defiantly staring at his sister's husband. At Rhaegar Targaryen. Staring at him with a fierce, piercing look.

 _You shamed my sister at Harrenhal_ , Lyanna imagined that look saying. She was so transfixed watching what was unfolding at the royal pavilion, she did not realize that she herself was being watched and stared by other pairs of eyes. _That's her_ , Lyanna knew each and every one of them was thinking. _That's the woman the prince shamed his wife for._

Stannis asking her earlier if she wanted to leave made sense now. He must have known something like this could happen. She cursed herself for her lack of foresight. She turned to look at him, and finally realized that the eyes of the crowd were not only staring at her, they were staring at her husband too. That made her angrier, for reasons she could not explain even to herself. _Leave him be_ , she wanted to shout to them. _He had nothing to do with it._ His only sin was being a dutiful brother, marrying the woman his dead brother was betrothed to.

The crowd was cheering for Elia and Oberyn Martell. Princess Elia accepted the bouquet of flowers from her brother, and kissed him gently on one cheek. Lyanna breathed a sigh of relief, it was finally over. Benjen was asking Brandon who he would have named as queen of love and beauty. Brandon took Catelyn's hand and kissed it. “My wife, of course. Who else?” He was about to kiss her full on the lips, when Catelyn shied away. Brandon laughed, “Oh, there's no need to be bashful, Cat. We're among friends and family here.”

“What about you, Ned?” Benjen turned to his other brother.

“I was not in the tourney,” Ned replied.

“Yes, but if you had been?” Ned looked lost in thoughts. Was he thinking of some girl? Lyanna wondered. Ned had danced with Ashara Dayne at Harrenhal, but had not spoken of her at all after that. At least not to Lyanna.

After a while, Benjen got tired of waiting for Ned's answer, and answered his own question. “I would name the queen.”

“The queen? You mean Queen Rhaella?” Brandon asked.

“Yes, Queen Rhaella,” Benjen replied.

“Why, Ben?” Lyanna asked her brother.

“Because she looks so sad. And -”

Lyanna's father interrupted before Benjen could finish. “Yes, do that, and have the king throw you in the dungeon. Or even take your head. Foolish boy,” he hissed angrily. “Foolish, foolish boy. Who do you think you are, to name the king's wife as your queen of love and beauty?”

Benjen looked contrite, but he did not answer his father's question. He turned to Ned to escape his father's wrathful look. “Well, have you made up your mind yet, Ned?”

Ned was ready with his reply this time. “I would name Lyanna. People should only name their own family. Sisters, or wives. It makes things too ... complicated otherwise.” Ned's words were greeted with an awkward silence. Rhaegar Targaryen had named another woman, a woman not his wife.

Catelyn tried to defuse the tension. “Well, some men are not blessed with sisters. Or wives.”

Brandon laughed. “Some men are not as lucky as I am.” He turned to Stannis. “What about you, Stannis? Who would you name?”

Lyanna knew her husband had seldom been on tourney lists. Stannis was looking at Brandon with a curious expression on his face. Lyanna was worried he was about to go on a rant about the frivolity of tourneys. She did not want her family making fun of him behind his back later. She could not bear the thought of Brandon and Benjen, and perhaps even her father, laughing at him, mocking his self-seriousness. She quickly took her husband's hand. “He'll name me, of course. His wife. Won't you, Stannis?”

Stannis was still staring at Brandon, ignoring her question. Lyanna pressed her fingers harder on his palm. He did not flinch, but his gaze finally found her. “Yes,” he replied, with just the one word.

“Lord Baratheon,” a voice interrupted.

“Lord Commander,” Stannis returned the greeting. Ser Gerold Hightower, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard was standing in front of their tent.

“Lord Stark,” Ser Gerold nodded to Lyanna's father.

“Ser Gerold, how may we be of service?” Her father's voice sounded irritated. Lyanna wondered if her father had resented the Lord Commander greeting Stannis first.

“His Grace the king has invited Lord Stannis Baratheon and his wife Lady Lyanna to attend the feast at the royal pavilion.”

 _No_ , Lyanna was screaming inside. _I have been presented to the king. What does he want now?_

Rhaegar would be on that table. And Princess Elia.

“Such an great honor, for my daughter and her husband. Tell me, Ser Gerold, who else has the king bestowed this honor to tonight?”

“Only Prince Oberyn, Lord Stark. His Grace said he only wants family at the royal table tonight,” Ser Gerold replied. “And of course Prince Oberyn is family by marriage.”

“And Lord Baratheon is the son of His Grace's dear cousin,” Lyanna's father nodded his head a few times. He turned to Stannis and Lyanna. “Well, you must not keep the king waiting.”

 


	12. Stannis VI

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard had been wrong, Oberyn Martell was not the only other guest present at the royal table. Lord Varys the Master of Whisperers was also in attendance, speaking in a low tone to the king as Stannis and Lyanna arrived at the royal pavilion. Stannis sensed the Lord Commander stiffening beside him when he noticed Varys.

“Lord Stannis Baratheon and his lady wife Lady Lyanna of House Stark, Your Grace,” Ser Gerold Hightower announced.

The king waved off the Lord Commander with a dismissive flick of his hand, his attention solely focused on his Master of Whisperers and whatever it was the man was whispering in his ears. Stannis and Lyanna remained standing, waiting for the king to acknowledge their presence.

“Father,” Rhaegar Targaryen opened his mouth. “Cousin Stannis is here.”

Lyanna was startled, it did not escape Stannis' notice. Startled to hear Rhaegar's voice again? Or startled that Rhaegar had called him 'Cousin'? Perhaps both, Stannis thought.

“Yes, yes, I know,” the king replied to his son in a querulous tone. “I still have eyes. And ears. I am not deaf or blind yet, even if that's the way you prefer me to be.”

The king's greeting to Stannis, however, was warmer, to Stannis' great surprise. He stood up from his seat and clasped Stannis on both shoulders. “Here, come sit next to me,” the king said, pointing to the empty seat on his right. The queen's seat. Stannis hesitated. “Your Grace -”

Varys interrupted. “It is _so_ sad that Her Grace the queen cannot be with us for the feast tonight. Alas, the day's festivities has _quite_ worn her out.”

It was the first time Stannis had heard the Spider's voice from close quarters, and he despised and distrusted it from that first listen. The young Prince Viserys was also not at the table. His seat, now empty, had been between Varys and Oberyn Martell.

“Well, sit! What are you waiting for?” The king's tone suddenly turned cross and impatient, as quick as lightning. Stannis glanced at his wife, and the king noticed. “Your wife can sit next to Varys. He will look after her. He is very entertaining, she will not be bored. She will not be bored at all, I can assure you,” the king said, laughing a thin, reedy laugh.

For some reason, that felt more like a threat than a reassurance to Stannis. Lyanna gave his hand a quick squeeze, nodded, and started walking to take her seat. Stannis did the same.

He was acutely conscious of Rhaegar Targaryen sitting on the other side of him. Princess Elia was sitting next to her husband, her attention completely focused on the food on her plate. The prince smiled gravely, and was about to say something to Stannis when the king snapped. “I want Stannis sitting next to me so that I can speak with him, not so you can monopolize him like you try to monopolize everything and everyone else.”

Rhaegar's expression was unchanged, but his voice betrayed some of the turmoil inside. “Father, I was only about to express my condolences to Cousin Stannis for his brother's death.”

“His brother has been dead for months. His brother, who is also your cousin. Your Cousin Robert. You obviously care so much you waited this long to express your condolences,” the king smirked.

What was causing this undercurrent of hostility between the king and his son? His heir. It troubled Stannis deeply, and yet he did not know why. It was none of his concern.

“You are right, Father. It was very amiss of me,” the prince replied, his tone gentle and conciliatory. That, however, only seemed to increase the king's wrath.

“Do not try to humor me! I am not an addled-brain creature you need to appease with soft words to shut me up, all the while you're laughing at me behind my back.”

“No one is laughing at you, Father,” Princess Elia spoke for the first time.

“Your husband and his friends are,” the king scoffed. “His friends all the high and mighty lords, and his friends in the Kingsguard. Perhaps I should rename it the Princesguard. They would die for their _precious_ , _precious_ prince before they would die for me.” He stared at Princess Elia and grinned, a deeply satisfied grin, as if he was reveling in some dark secret only he knew. “He's laughing at you too, you know. Your husband. Mark my word. We're both laughingstocks to him and his friends.”

“Your Grace, perhaps you would like to tell Lord Stannis about the painting you found of his father Lord Steffon as a babe?” Varys suddenly interrupted. He had been observing and listening to the king's tirade, his face betraying nothing. Stannis wondered why Varys had chosen that particular moment to intervene.

“Ah, yes. It is of Cousin Steffon soon after his birth,” the king said to Stannis. He was smiling now, his wrath seemingly already forgotten.

“Was my father brought to King's Landing soon after his birth?” Stannis asked. “I did not know that.” His father had been born at Storm's End, Stannis knew, Maester Cressen, then a young maester fresh from the Citadel the one delivering him. But perhaps he had been taken as a babe to King's Landing, to be presented to his grandfather the late King Aegon.

The king shook his head. “No, no. Grandfather sent someone from court to Storm's End to paint him and aunt Rhaelle soon after the birth. He had the Baratheon look, of course, your father, not Targaryen, with that black hair of his. It was so thick and black, you could not miss it, even in a painting.”

The ferocity of his desire to see this painting was disquieting to Stannis. This painting of his father and his grandmother. The grandmother he had never met. The father who had been dead for years. He could not recall the last time he had wanted something this intensely. But the king did not offer to show him the painting, and it was not his place to ask.

The king was huddled close to Varys again, the two of them speaking in low voices, ignoring everyone else. Stannis took advantage of the lull in the conversation to sneak a glance at his wife. She was deep in conversation with Oberyn Martell, a pleasant and enjoyable conversation, it would seem so, from both their expressions. What could they possibly be talking about? Stannis wondered. He struggled to think of a subject that would interest them both.

Horse-riding turned out to be the answer. They were talking about the first horse they had learned to ride. It struck Stannis suddenly that he had never asked Lyanna about her first horse. Or who had taught her to ride. Or if she had missed riding in the woods around Winterfell.

_I will ask her all that, and more_ , he resolved.

Oberyn Martell mystified Stannis. Was it possible that Princess Elia's brother was ignorant of Lyanna's identity as the woman Rhaegar Targaryen had crowned as queen and love and beauty, bypassing his own wife? That seemed highly unlikely to Stannis, and yet Oberyn Martell's courtesy towards Lyanna seemed to indicate that. No, not just courtesy, he was obviously taking a great delight in her company, listening to her words with rapt attention, smiling, laughing and being completely charming.

It was only after Stannis realized that his eyes were not the only pair of eyes watching Oberyn and Lyanna that he finally understood what Oberyn Martell was doing. Rhaegar Targaryen was watching them too, watching them with his sad, mournful eyes, looking downcast.

_How dare you make use of her_ , he wanted to shake both of them and shout. Rhaegar and Oberyn both. _Leave her out of whatever games you are playing, whatever grudges you hold towards each other._ But causing a scene would only humiliate Lyanna further, Stannis knew, so he held his tongue. For now.

And who was Rhaegar to look sad and mournful? Another thought struck Stannis. _He_ was Lyanna's husband, not Rhaegar. _He_ was the father of the child she was carrying.

_He is the man she had once loved,_ Stannis' own voice replied in his head, mocking, and full of scorn. _Do not pretend to forget._

_He is also another woman's husband, still yearning for another man's wife_ , Stannis countered. _Where is his respect for the vows we all took?_ Stannis turned away from watching Lyanna and Oberyn, and stared at the crown prince. Who could not meet Stannis' gaze and looked away, turning to his own wife, suddenly asking her a question about the tourney earlier that day. Princess Elia replied without much interest, possibly knowing that the question was only her husband's way of finding a distraction.

_She is no fool, cousin. Your wife._

“Why, Oberyn, you have been monopolizing Lyanna the whole night. Stannis might have cause to be jealous,” the king suddenly spoke, startling Stannis. “Or someone else might be,” the king continued, his tone more malicious than playful this time.

Oberyn Martell laughed. “Forgive me, Lord Stannis, I was enjoying my conversation with your delightful wife very much.” He paused, the laughter gone not only from his voice, but also from his eyes as he continued. “But Your Grace, who else besides Lady Lyanna's husband would be jealous?”

“Don't ask questions you already know the answers to,” was the king's cryptic reply. A long silence greeted the king's remark.

“When will you depart for Storm's End, Lord Stannis?” Princess Elia finally broke the silence.

“After dawn tomorrow, Your Grace,” Stannis replied.

“I hope you and Lady Lyanna have enjoyed your time in King's Landing,” she continued.

Varys interrupted, saving Stannis from having to reply to the question. He most certainly had not enjoyed his time in King's Landing.

“I am sure we will see more of Lord Stannis in court, now that he is the Lord of Storm's End. And perhaps … Lady Lyanna too?” Varys asked, in a delicate tone.

“My place is at Storm's End if my husband is away, Lord Varys,” Lyanna replied. Stannis marveled at her composure.

“Of course, of course,” Varys replied, his tone obsequious.

The king stood up suddenly. “Well, go on with the feast. I'm going to show Stannis that painting of his father.”

“Perhaps Lady Lyanna would like to see it too, Father?” Princess Elia said in a gentle voice.

“Nonsense!” The king snapped. “Why would she want to see a painting of a man she has never met?” He waved impatiently in Stannis' direction. “Come on, come on, I don't have all night.”

Stannis stood up and followed the king, turning back at the last moment to glance at his wife. Her composure seemed to be deserting her, she had a haunted look on her face. But she smiled when she noticed him looking at her, and nodded slightly.

 


	13. Lyanna VII

It was as if her nightmare was coming to life, Lyanna thought, as she watched her husband walking three steps behind the king. _Don't be silly_ , she chastised herself, _they are only going to see a painting._ And yet she could not shake the feeling that something more was going on, that the king had something else in mind for her husband.

The tension at the table had not escaped her notice. At first she had assumed that the unholy mess that had been herself, Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia was the cause, but as the feast went on, she detected an undercurrent of something else too. Rhaegar's words to her about his father, whispered to her once upon a time, wandered through her mind, even as she struggled to banish any thought of him at all.

“He thinks I want his throne right now, that I wish to set him aside, that I am plotting with various lords to set him aside and steal his throne,” Rhaegar had told Lyanna, in a moment of absolute despair. He had shared his fears and his vulnerabilities with her, in a way that Stannis never had.

_And perhaps never will. He is who he is_ , she told herself. _My husband_. And her worries about what the king had in mind for Stannis at the moment was deeper than her worries about what Stannis might not be willing to share with her.

She had been conversing with Oberyn Martell, but still half-listening to the king's harsh words. Lyanna had been surprised at Oberyn's attention to her, but the shameful truth was, part of her was relieved that Oberyn's anger did not seem to extend to her, had seemed to be directed merely at Rhaegar. It was a while before she began to wonder why that was the case. Did Oberyn Martell not know that she was the woman Rhaegar had crowned as queen of love and beauty over his own wife? Over Oberyn's sister? She had enjoyed their conversation; Oberyn Martell turned out to be very knowledgeable about horses. And he had traveled far and wide, not just all over the Seven Kingdoms, but in the Free Cities as well.

Lyanna had noticed both Stannis and Rhaegar watching her talking to Oberyn Martell, Stannis' expression merely curious, but Rhaegar's sad. _Don't look at me_ , Lyanna wanted to tell him. _And why are you looking so sad, when my husband is not?_

“I didn't know the king is so close to Lord Stannis,” Oberyn Martell's voice broke Lyanna's reverie.

“My husband's late father was His Grace's cousin,” Lyanna replied.

“Did Lord Stannis grow up in King's Landing then, after his parents' death? Was he and Prince Rhaegar playmates? Were they close?” The insistent barrage of questions from Oberyn Martell was making Lyanna uncomfortable.

“No, he stayed at Storm's End with his younger brother Renly. His older brother Robert was fostered with Lord Arryn at the Eyrie.”

“Oh, I thought Lord Stannis and Prince Rhaegar had a close relationship.” There was something strange about the way Oberyn had said those words. Lyanna did not know how to respond. She was saved from having to do so by Lord Varys.

“It is very good of you to crown your good sister as queen of love and beauty, Prince Oberyn,” Varys spoke for the first time since the king left the feast.

“No one deserves the honor more,” Oberyn replied.

“Lady Lyanna was crowned queen of love and beauty at the tourney in Harrenhal, did you know that?” Varys asked, the question obviously directed to the only person at the table not present at Harrenhal.

“Yes, I did know,” Oberyn replied evenly. “But not by her own brother.”

“I'm sure Prince Rhaegar was only honoring his dear cousin, Lord Robert Baratheon. Since Lord Robert did not win and could not crown his own betrothed,” Varys said, smiling broadly.

Oberyn Martell laughed, a harsh, bitter laugh that shocked Lyanna.

“What do you find so funny, dear brother?” Princess Elia asked.

“Nothing. I was just thinking of the spider and the viper,” Oberyn replied.

“Which would win in a fight, do you mean?” His sister queried again.

“No, whether they can become allies.”

“But can you trust the spider? That's the real question,” Rhaegar suddenly spoke.

“Well, the enemy of your enemy is your friend, I have heard it said,” Oberyn replied, his eyes staring daggers at Rhaegar. He looked like he was about to say more, but Princess Elia interrupted. “I'm sure our conversation has grown very tedious for Lady Lyanna.”

Lyanna shook her head. “No, not at all. You were magnificent during the joust, Prince Oberyn, especially during the match with Ser Jaime.”

“Ahh, that boy. The boy Kingsguard, I have heard him called. He defeated your own brother, did he not?”

“Yes, Benjen lost to him in the first round,” Lyanna replied.

“A callow boy. A fair enough fighter, but very impatient. Jaime Lannister, that is, not your brother, of course, Lady Lyanna. Not a match for me at all.”

“It does not do to brag, Oberyn,” Princess Elia gently chastised her brother.

“I am only telling the truth as I see it. Now Jon Connington, he is more of an equal match for me. And he was very determined to win. I wonder who he was planning to crown as his queen of love and beauty.” Oberyn looked amused at the thought. “Do you know?” He directed the question to his brother-in-law.

“No doubt there is a woman Jon wishes to honor,” Rhaegar replied.

Varys insinuated himself in the conversation. “You and Lord Connington are such _close_ friends, my prince. You must have some inkling as to the identity of this … _woman_.”

Varys calling him 'my prince' must have annoyed Rhaegar. He replied in a stiff tone, “No, I do not.”

They were silent after that. It was an awkward silence, but Lyanna welcomed it nonetheless. The silence was finally broken when Stannis arrived back at the table. Lyanna could not hide her relief at the sight of her husband.

Her husband, however, was looking troubled. Very, very troubled.

“His Grace the king wishes to see you in his bedchamber, Lord Varys,” Stannis spoke.

Varys took his leave, smiling as he walked away. “I have been summoned.”

“Whose words do you think your father pays more attention to? Yours, or Varys?” Oberyn was asking Rhaegar, staring at him intently. Rhaegar returned his gaze, but did not reply to the question.

“I wonder if I could speak to you alone, Prince Rhaegar?” It was Stannis' voice again speaking. Lyanna's heart skipped a beat. She panicked, all manners of conflicting thoughts and emotions running through her. But she did not dare look at her husband at that moment. Or at Rhaegar.

“Now what is so secretive that you cannot say it here, Lord Stannis? In front of your own wife, and the prince's own wife?” Oberyn Martell asked.

“Oberyn.” It was a warning, from Princess Elia to her brother.

“Let's take a walk,” Rhaegar said to Stannis. The table was silent again after Rhaegar and Stannis left, the three of them concentrating on their food.

“My sister has grown weary of my company tonight,” Oberyn finally broke the silence.

“Only because you seem determined to pick a fight with everyone tonight,” Princess Elia replied.

“You wound me, dear sister. My intentions are entirely noble and not self-serving, I assure you.”

“I do not need you to fight my battles, Oberyn,” Elia said softly. “And you are not the one who will have to make a life here, after this. You will leave and go back to Dorne. Or to your travel. I will still be here, with my children.”

“Understood. Well, I will leave you and Lady Lyanna to converse. I'm going to seek out Lord Connington to congratulate him on a hard-fought match.”

“Be gentle. He is Rhaegar's dearest friend.”

“I am always gentle, dearest Elia,” Oberyn replied, with a mock wounded look on his face. His sister kissed him gently on his brow as he was leaving the table.

“Perhaps you would like to move closer, Lady Lyanna, so it is easier for us to talk?” Princess Elia said.

Lyanna moved to the seat occupied by Rhaegar previously, next to Princess Elia. She opened her mouth to ask a question. “Is the queen -”

Princess Elia spoke at the same time. “My brother -”

They both fell silent. “You first, Lady Lyanna.” Lyanna hesitated. “I insist,” Elia said.

“I was wondering if the queen is unwell.”

“No, the day has tired her out, that is all. It was a long match between my brother and Lord Connington. I was going to apologize for my brother's behavior. Oberyn is very dear to me, but he can be very impetuous.”

Why should she apologize to Lyanna? Her brother had not said anything against Lyanna. But she could not ask the princess that. “There is nothing to apologize for, Your Grace. I had a delightful time conversing with Prince Oberyn. He is very knowledgeable about horses, and a great many things besides. And ... very charming.”

“Yes, he has that effect on many women,” Elia said dryly. Lyanna wondered suddenly if they were still talking about Oberyn Martell.

“Is it strange?” Elia asked suddenly.

“What is, Your Grace?” The two of them talking, but not really saying what was in both their minds? Ignoring the elephant in the room?

“Being married to Lord Stannis, when you were betrothed to his late brother?”

Lyanna did not reply immediately, and the princess apologized. “Forgive me, I should not intrude on something so … personal.”

“No, please, it's fine. I was just thinking about the question. It _is_ strange, I suppose. But then again, I did not know Robert all that well before the betrothal either. Stannis and I, we are still getting to know each other.”

Elia nodded. “That is the way for most marriages, I'm afraid. Understanding comes later. Perhaps even love, if you're lucky.”

“I heard that … that …” Lyanna hesitated.

“Go on,” Elia was encouraging her.

“I heard that the Prince of Dorne married for love.”

“Yes, my brother Doran did marry for love. Not for politics, or alliance, or family. But it has not been a happy marriage. These things are hard to predict. Love is not always enough.”

“Yes, I know,” Lyanna replied softly.

“Then that is how we shall leave it. Nothing more needs to be said on the matter,” Elia said firmly.


	14. Stannis VII

The king's stride turned out to be faster than Stannis had expected. Two members of the Kingsguard walked discreetly behind them – Lord Tywin's son, and the Lord Commander himself. Stannis was surprised to realize that they were making their way to the throne room. Surely the painting of his father could not be there?

“Leave us,” the king dismissed the two Kingsguards.

“Your Grace,” Ser Gerold protested.

“Why, are you planning to spy on me, Ser Gerold? To report my conversation with Stannis to my son?” The king turned his attention to Jaime Lannister, his index finger poking the boy's armored chest. “And you, boy, what about you? Spying for your father, perhaps?”

Jaime Lannister met the king's gaze with an expressionless face, but he eventually faltered as the king continued to stare at him maliciously. His gaze went to his feet instead. The king laughed. Ser Gerold barely reacted to the wild accusations, as if he was quite used to them. “We are here to protect you, Your Grace,” he replied.

“I don't need protection from the son of my own cousin! Must I repeat myself? Do I need to remind you that I am still your king? Leave, I say!”

“At once, Your Grace,” Ser Gerold finally said. He and Jaime Lannister made their way out of the throne room, as Stannis shifted his weight from one foot to another, uncertain as to what was expected of him. The king was standing at the foot of the throne, his eyes fixed on the iron throne itself, with it's sharp, jagged edges and treacherous surfaces.

“It is a most uncomfortable chair to sit on, I can tell you that,” the king whispered, his voice so low Stannis had to strain his ears to hear him. “Oh, I know what they call me. King Scab, they say, for he cuts himself so often sitting on that chair. But they don't know what it's like, sitting there day after day after day, year after year after year, staring at all those indifferent faces, all wanting something, greedy and grasping and horrid. _Make me a lord, make me a richer lord, take my side in the dispute with that other lord, bring down my taxes._ And all the time they're staring at me, secretly whispering to each other – “ _Tywin Lannister would be a better king. Prince Rhaegar would be a better king. King Scab should have died at Duskendale._ ” The king's voice had been growing louder and louder, he was shouting now. “Laughing at me. Mocking me. Their king! I am a Targaryen, I have the blood of the dragon in me. How dare these men mock me? These mere … mortals?”

The question did not seem to be directed to Stannis, more to the room itself. Or perhaps to the world at large. Stannis replied to it nonetheless.

“My father taught me that it is how we judge our own self that truly matters, not the judgment of others,” Stannis said.

The king seemed startled, as if he had forgotten that Stannis was in the room with him. He smiled. “Cousin Steffon was a wise man. A good man.” The smile curdled into a grimace. “But he never sat on that throne, he never knew or understood how treacherous it is.” His grimace turned into a smile again, a wide grin this time that made Stannis more uncomfortable than the grimace. “Would you like to sit on it? To see what it is like? So you can understand what I am telling you.”

“On the iron throne? No, Your Grace, I understand what you are telling me perfectly well. I do not need to sit on the throne.”

The king was insistent. “You cannot truly _see_ it, or _know_ it, until you're sitting there yourself.”

Stannis shook his head. “Your Grace -”

The king was furious, as furious as he had been when Ser Gerold had protested about leaving. “Are you going to defy me too?” He shouted.

Stannis took a step towards the throne. “Go on,” the king said, walking beside Stannis, his hand on Stannis' shoulder. They walked up the steps together, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the almost empty room. Lyanna's dream, the one she had shared with him, intruded on Stannis' thoughts. He did not know why; he was not following the king into the path of a storm.

It was Tywin Lannister and not King Aerys he and Robert had actually seen sitting on that throne, the first time Father had brought them to court, when Stannis was only four. Stannis and Robert had not known that until much later. He wondered how many boys, and perhaps even men, had made the same mistake he and Robert had made. Lord Tywin had indeed looked very kingly and regal. _The man who truly rules the realm._ The king's diatribes, paranoid and wild as they were, perhaps had their seeds in something real.

_But Lord Tywin is no longer Hand of the King. And His Grace's suspicion of his own son and heir does not seem warranted_ , Stannis thought.

“Sit,” came the brusque command from the king.

It was a chair deliberately made to be uncomfortable, history claimed. At least, history as recounted by the maesters and the archmaesters from the Citadel. In truth, it did not feel all that different from sitting on other chairs to Stannis. He was sitting with the same rigid posture he would usually have sitting on other chairs in other rooms.

“Well?” The king's gleeful tone shocked Stannis.

Stannis let his gaze roamed through the entirety of the throne room, imagining the room filled with lords and knights and common folks, all with their claims and their concerns. And it was the king's duty to listen, to judge, to decide, for the people of the whole kingdom, as it was his duty now as the Lord of Storm's End to do the same for the people of the stormlands.

But the act of imagining was not the same as truly seeing, or truly knowing. He did not know what to say to the king. He only knew he wanted to be out of that chair and out of that room, as soon as possible.

“It must be very lonely, sitting up here.” He did not know where those words had come from. They were out of his mouth before he could consider them.

The king stared at Stannis for a long while. His expression softened towards something resembling the man Stannis had once known as a boy. “So you _do_ understand. I knew you would.” The boiling fury was suddenly back on his face and in his voice, as he continued. “My son doesn't. Rhaegar does not understand at all. And Viserys is too young. Too young and too powerless to defend me from his older brother.”

To defend the king from Rhaegar? This was a spider-induced paranoia, Stannis was certain of it. As much as he disliked the Crown Prince, he distrusted the Master of Whisperers even more.

Stannis went for the direct route. “What is it that Lord Varys claims Prince Rhaegar is plotting, Your Grace?”

The king scoffed. “Claim! It is not a mere claim. He has proof. Meetings. Secret meetings. Talks of calling a council. To make Rhaegar king.”

“He is your rightful heir, Your Grace. He will be king after you, that is the law.”

“He does not want to wait! Don't you understand? Oh he is beloved, my son. So very beloved. They cheer for him in the streets, tell endless stories about him and his harp and his _glorious_ , _glorious_ voice. What a good king he will make, they say. The best king the Seven Kingdoms has ever seen.” The anger and fury in the king's voice was hard to listen to. But the hardest thing, the thing that troubled Stannis the most, was the hurt in it. And the hatred. He had been driven to hate his own son, his own heir, perhaps with grave consequences for the realm.

_Damn that eunuch_ , Stannis swore in his head.

The king was looking at him with a calculating expression. “You don't believe me, do you? I am disappointed in you, Stannis. I never took you for the type to fall for my son's charm.”

“It is not about charm, Your Grace.”

“We are not that different, you and I. Always in the shadow. Always merely second-best. Second-rate. Never good enough in the eyes of others. Not as good as your brother Robert. Not as good as my grandfather, then my father, then my own Hand. And now my son.”

“Prince Rhaegar would never -”

The king interrupted swiftly. “How do you know what he would never do? He was going to steal your brother's intended bride, did you know that? Yes, _your_ Lyanna, your wife now.”

She is not _my_ Lyanna, Stannis wanted to say. _And I know that already, about the prince._

“Lord Varys seems to spend most of his time spying on the Crown Prince, rather than spying on the enemies of the realm,” Stannis said instead.

“The enemy of the king is the enemy of the realm.”

Stannis did not have a reply to that. He stayed silent, waiting for the king to speak.

“Look to that wall on your right. The painting beside the third dragon skull,” the king finally spoke.

Stannis' father, as a red-faced, squalling babe, in the arms of Princess Rhaelle Targaryen. Steffon Baratheon's dark hair stood out in stark contrast to his mother's silvery-gold mane. Stannis stared and stared. He could not take his eyes off the painting.

“It is here … in the throne room. I did not think … I did not know it would be here.”

“I commanded them to put it in the throne room, of course. For everyone to see. To honor your father,” the king said softly. “He was loyal to me. To the very end. Sometimes I wish … that he is still here.”

_I wish that every day_ , Stannis thought. _Every day that I am alive, and Father and Mother are not._

The king grasped both of Stannis' hands. “Will you be as loyal to me as your father was, Stannis? Can I count on you as much as I counted on him? As much as I once depended on him?”

_He is my king. It is my duty to be loyal to him_ , Stannis repeated the words to himself.

“Of course, Your Grace.” He hesitated for a moment, before continuing. “But Lord Varys -”

“He is valuable in his own way. I need him too.” The king was looking distracted. “I have to ask him something. Something important. Very, very important. Go tell him I want to see him in my bedchamber.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Stannis took his leave from the throne room. He glanced back at the door, watching the king running his fingers through the iron throne, muttering to himself.

_I will have to speak to the Crown Prince_. The thought repulsed Stannis. But he knew it was something he had to do. For the king. For the realm.

He glanced at the painting of his father for the last time. _Father, is this what you would have done?_

He waited. And waited. There was no answer, but he was not expecting one.

_What am I waiting for, then?_

The king noticed him standing by the door. “What are you still doing here? I need to see Varys now.”

Stannis rushed out of the room.

Lyanna's look of relief when she saw him arriving back at the feast was not lost on Stannis. He cursed himself for not thinking about what it must have been like for her, to be left at that table. With that company.

_I have to leave you alone again, Lyanna. Forgive me._

He ignored Varys' self-satisfied smile when he was told about the king's summon, and Oberyn Martell's jibe about secrets. Stannis and Rhaegar did not speak until they were well away from the feast.

“What is it you want to speak to me about, Stannis?”

“Your Grace -”

The prince smiled. “Rhaegar, please. Or Cousin Rhaegar, if you are more comfortable with that.”

“How much do you know about Lord Varys?” Stannis asked. “Your Grace.”

Rhaegar sighed. He looked weary, his eyes drifting upward to stare at the night sky. It was a starless night, dark and foreboding. He returned his gaze to Stannis after a few minutes. “Not much. Only what he has deigned to tell us, of course, and who knows how much of that is even true. Why?”

“Perhaps it is not my place to speak of this, but Lord Varys seems to have gained a considerable amount of influence on the king,” Stannis said stiffly. “Maybe more than he should.”

Rhaegar nodded. “I know. I have tried to speak to my father about the matter, but it only seemed to raise his ire towards me. He is not very fond of me recently, I'm sure you have noticed that.”

There was no other way to approach the subject, except to ask the question bluntly. “Are you plotting to depose your father from the throne, and install yourself as king before his death?”

The prince's reaction was not what Stannis had expected at all. He had expected anger, indignation, furious denials. Instead, Rhaegar stared at Stannis with his sad, haunting eyes for what seemed like an eternity. Stannis had to look away after a while.

“Is that what he told you?” The prince asked.

“Have you given him any cause to have this suspicion?” Stannis replied with his own question.

“Tell me, Stannis, what is your impression of my father? His … health. His mental state. You have not seen him in quite a long time, I know.”

“I fail to see how my impression of the king matters,” Stannis replied stiffly.

“It matters to me. In fact, it matters to me a great deal, Stannis,” the prince said, his eyes boring through Stannis' own as if he was trying to read Stannis' mind. Stannis deeply resented the intrusion. The prince continued. “Depose. It is such an ugly word.”

“The truth is often ugly, when laid bare for all to see. What word would you prefer instead? Something sweeter and prettier but full of lies and treacheries?” Stannis could not keep the disgust out of his voice.

Rhaegar did not seem to take offense, and that only raised Stannis' anger and disgust. “You have not answered my question,” the prince said calmly.

Deep breath. He was not here to quarrel with the prince. “It was a shock to see His Grace the king,” Stannis admitted. “How long …”

“... has he been like this? It started after Duskendale. He was never the same after that. Not surprising, after everything he suffered.”

“And the mistrust, suspicion and paranoia? Were those more recent, after Lord Varys' arrival?”

Rhaegar pondered the question. “I would like to believe that is the case. But the truth is, that started before Varys. The spider made it worse, perhaps, with his whispers and rumors and supposed “news”, but my father had stopped trusting anyone around him long before Varys ever stepped foot in King's Landing.”

“You have not answered _my_ question,Your Grace. Are you plotting -”

“I love my father, you know,” the prince interrupted.

“That was not my question,” Stannis said firmly.

The prince was equally firm in his response. “I want you to know that. It is important to me that you know that.”

_Why? Who am I to you? No one. Why should it matter? Why should it be important?_

“Are you always so certain about where your duty lies, Stannis?”

“Aren't you?”

“I used to be. And then gradually … gradually I come to realize that it is not always so simple. So … certain. So black and white. My duty to my father, to my king. My duty to the realm, to my people. What happens if the two are in opposition to one another? What should I do? How do I choose?”

“How could the two be in opposition?”

Rhaegar's haunting eyes were staring at him again, insistent, almost desperate. “You _know_ how. You are aware of it yourself, which is why you wanted to have this conversation with me. Even though … even though I am probably last man in the Seven Kingdoms you wish to speak to.”

“You did not mention your duty to your wife and to your children. Have you forgotten that? Or is it never that important to you?”

“I deserve that,” Rhaegar replied, smiling wryly.

“Yes, you do.” Stannis was not smiling. “Your Grace.”

“Will you still help me?”

“Help you?”

“To consider that question. About competing duties. I may need your counsel soon, I think.”

 


	15. Lyanna VIII

_Love is not always enough._

Princess Elia's words were haunting Lyanna's thoughts.

_With this kiss I pledge my love._

The vows she had spoken on her wedding day jostled for position as well in Lyanna's mind. At the time, she had uttered those words without much thought, eager for the ceremony to be over. Stannis had spoken the same words almost grudgingly, ' _love_ ' coming out of his mouth as a harsh bark. He was not looking at her when he finally pulled her for the kiss, his eyes fixed on something else behind her.

_Or someone else?_

Lyanna's eyes strayed to her husband, sitting at the table writing a letter to Maester Cressen. Telling the maester to prepare Storm's End for visitors, she assumed. Lyanna's father had decided to visit Storm's End on their way back to Winterfell. “There is something I need to discuss with you, Stannis. And King's Landing is not the right place for it. Ravens are not to be trusted either, not for this matter,” her father had said.

“Who were you looking at, when you were kissing me on our wedding day?” Lyanna blurted out the question suddenly.

Stannis turned around to face her. “Was I looking at anyone? I don't remember.”

“You were looking at something behind me. Or someone.”

“How could you tell? Your eyes were closed.”

Had her eyes really been closed? She did not remember that. Before she could protest, her husband spoke again. “Do you know what your father wants to discuss with me? He's being very mysterious about it.”

“No. I asked him, but he said it is between you and him, that I should not worry myself. That it is not my concern.” Lyanna could not keep the bitterness out of her voice, the memory of that conversation with her father still rankled. _I am no longer a child_ , she wanted to say to her father. _I am a married woman now, about to be a mother. And Stannis is my husband, it_ is _my concern._ But the habit of a lifetime stayed her tongue in her father's presence. She wondered if she would ever grow out of that.

Her husband was clearing his throat, looking nervous. “What is it?” She asked gently.

“It wasn't too bad, was it? The feast. You did not have such a bad time?”

“No,” she lied, but then thought better of it. “I don't know. It was …”

She struggled to find the right word to describe the experience.

“Strange,” Stannis found the word for her. Lyanna nodded. “Yes, it was very strange. Almost … surreal, in fact.”

“Did … did Princess Elia ask her brother to leave the two of you alone?”

Lyanna shook her head. “No, Prince Oberyn wanted to find Lord Connington to congratulate him on a hard-fought match.”

Stannis and Rhaegar had both looked surprised when they came back to the table to find Lyanna sitting beside Princess Elia, the two of them the only ones left at the table. “Don't look so worried, Lord Stannis. I have not been mistreating your wife,” Princess Elia had said with a smile, her tone almost jesting. But Lyanna noticed that the princess was not really looking at Stannis when she said those words, she was looking at Rhaegar. Her eyes, in stark contrast to her tone of voice and the smile grazing her lips, were grave and solemn.

“We've been having a pleasant conversation, haven't we, Lady Lyanna?”

“Yes, my princess,” Lyanna had replied.

The looks passing between Rhaegar and Elia haunted her too. She could not decipher them. She resolved not to spend another moment thinking about it.

_Now that truly_ is _not my concern. Not anymore._

Something else struck her suddenly. “Did you speak to Lord Connington?” Lyanna asked her husband.

“No. Why?”

“He is your bannerman. You should congratulate him.”

“He didn't win,” Stannis said blithely.

“Yes, but he fought so hard,” Lyanna replied.

“He doesn't need praises or well-wishes from me.”

“What's wrong with giving it anyway? Perhaps we could invite him to dinner, once we're back at Storm's End. Father always gives a feast to celebrate when one of his bannermen wins a tourney. It's probably not suitable to hold a feast since Lord Connington lost the final match, and a celebratory feast might only remind him of that. But we could invite him to dinner instead.”

Stannis' attention was back to the letter he was writing. “I don't think that's necessary,” he shrugged.

Lyanna lost her patience. “I'm trying my best to do my duty as the lady of Storm's End, and you're not really helping!”

Her husband stared at her with a shocked expression on his face. “I -”

“Is it because Jon Connington is a close friend of Prince Rhaegar? Is that why you refuse to do it? Refuse to even show him some common courtesy?

Stannis looked appalled. “Of course not. That never even crossed my mind.”

“Then why? What's wrong with showing courtesy to one of your own bannermen? Is that not part of your duty as lord of Storm's End?”

“There is too much falseness in the world already. False courtesies, false praises, false everything. I loathe it.”

She knew _that_ look of stubborn and unyielding determination on her husband's face. “It does not have to be false,” Lyanna said gently.

_It will take me the rest of our lives together to make him see that, probably._

Her husband did not reply. He changed the subject instead. “What is your impression of the king?”

Lyanna hesitated. “He is your father's cousin. I'm not sure -”

“Be honest. I want to know what you really think.”

“He terrified me. His demeanor, the things he was saying. After all, we and Prince Oberyn were merely guests at that table, and for him to speak the way he did about his own family with us there was very strange. And it was as if he _wanted_ things to be tense and uncomfortable, as if he wanted us to … to quarrel.”

Stannis nodded. “He wanted to make things as uncomfortable as possible for Prince Rhaegar. His Grace seems to have become very suspicious of his own son. The work of that eunuch, no doubt,” he scoffed.

Lyanna spoke before she thought better of it. “This is what he feared before, that his father would no longer trust him.”

Silence. Absolute silence greeted her words. It was as if the world had been stripped bare of all its occupants.

It was a while before Stannis finally spoke. “Rhaegar? Did he tell you that? I didn't know you and the prince had a chance to speak alone tonight.” His eyes were fixed again on the letter he was writing, his tone unconcerned, as if it did not matter, but Lyanna was not fooled. She stood up from the bed, walked towards him, and put her hand on his shoulder. He did not flinch from the touch, as she was half-expecting.

“No, I did not speak with him tonight, alone or in front of the others,” Lyanna said firmly.

Stannis was not looking at her. “Why not? If there is truly nothing there anymore, surely you could speak with him normally, like talking to any other man. The way you spoke to Oberyn Martell tonight.”

“Are you doubting me?” Lyanna asked.

“No, I'm doubting what it is you do not want to admit even to yourself,” Stannis replied.

She took her hand off her husband's shoulder. “So what? What if I do admit it? Whatever it is that you think I should admit to myself. Will that change anything? No, it will not. It cannot. Except to make us both more unhappy.”

He was looking at her now, staring at her incensed and indignant face. “We must always admit the truth, and face it as best as we can, even if it cannot change anything.”

“You don't know the truth, _my_ truth,” she scoffed. “You think you do, but you don't.”

“Do you know it yourself?” He asked, his tone gentler, and sadder, than she had ever heard from her husband.

“I know the vows we said, when we were married. ' _Now and forever_ ',” Lyanna replied.

“We also said ' _one flesh, one heart, one soul_ ', and we both know that is not possible.”

“It is not possible because you're not really trying. I can't do it alone, on my own,” she snapped back, her patience running low for the men in her life. Her father, her husband.

Her husband, who was changing the subject yet again. “So when did the prince tell you that? About his father?” He was asking Lyanna.

“At Harrenhal,” Lyanna replied.

“He was telling a stranger about that, he was being unwise. No wonder Varys could sow doubts and suspicions about him to the king so easily.”

“I don't think he was saying that to anybody who was listening. I was not exactly a … a -”

“- a stranger. That might be so. But if he really needed someone to share his troubles with, he should have told his wife.”

“Yes, I see that now. At the time I was … touched, I suppose. You want me to admit the truth? Fine, I will admit this, to you, to myself. He was telling me things I thought he had never told anyone before. Unburdening himself to me, sharing his deepest fears and worries with me. I only knew him for the briefest of moment, but it felt like I have known him all my life.”

_And I loved him for that._ She did not say this to her husband; it would have been cruelty rather than honesty to tell him that, Lyanna thought.

_And now it feels like I knew him so much better than I know you. Than I will ever know you. Than you will ever let me know you._ She did not say this either, for reasons that she did not understand herself.

“He should have unburdened himself to the woman he vowed to spend his life with. Not some other woman,” Stannis replied, his face a carefully maintained blank.

“There is no other woman in your life, and yet you do not unburden yourself to your wife either.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” Lyanna was insistent.

“No, I don't,” Stannis replied, looking mystified.

“Really? You looked very troubled after you followed the king, and even more troubled after your conversation with Rhaegar. And yet you have said nothing to me, about what was troubling you. To your own wife.”

“You did not ask.”

“I need you to _want_ to tell me. To want to share your troubles with me. I don't want you telling me only because I insisted, and it is not in you to lie.”

“It's not so … simple."

“Why not?” She was waiting for his answer. _I don't want to worry you. It is not your concern._ She thought she would scream out loud if her husband said that too, as her father had often done.

“I don't really know and understand the situation myself. Not yet. If I tell you, it is only my own impressions and speculations so far. It wouldn't be fair to those people, since you cannot ask them yourself and ascertain the situation for yourself.”

“Tell me anyway. Maybe the two of us together, we can understand things better.”

Stannis looked like he was considering it, his face frowning with concentration. Lyanna waited. This felt like the moment that would determine the rest of her marriage.

_I have told you things I never told anyone. I have bared my heart to you, all my flaws and failings and weaknesses, I have told you all of that. How are we to survive if you will not reciprocate?_

_Maybe he can't_ , a voice whispered in Lyanna's head. _Maybe it is not in him to unburden himself to anyone, even his wife._

_Then we are lost_ , she despaired.

Her husband took her hand, and they walked to the bed together. They sat at the edge of the bed, their feet almost touching, her husband's hand still grasping Lyanna's own. “I think there is a storm coming,” he began.

 


	16. Stannis VIII

The sight of the castle was a great relief to Stannis. Storm's End, at last. Home, at last. Far, far away from all the plotting, scheming and falseness of King's Landing.

_Or perhaps not far enough_ , Stannis thought, as he watched his father-in-law thoughtfully. Rickard Stark had asked Stannis a great many questions about the king and Prince Rhaegar during their journey, questions that did not seem merely designed for polite conversation.

“Lya! Lya! Stannis! You're back. You came back!”

Renly's shouting and yelling irritated Stannis. Maester Cressen should really watch the boy more carefully, he thought. And yet Renly's look of amazement and astonishment that his brother and his sister-in-law came back from their trip after all - unlike his mother and father, unlike Robert - caused a sliver of pain to Stannis.

It was to Lyanna that Renly ran, embracing her tightly as if he was afraid she would disappear if he ever let go. Lyanna kissed the top of his head, smiled, and asked. “Have you been a good little lord while Stannis is away?”

“Yes!” Renly replied excitedly. “I checked the household account and Maester Cressen let me sit at the table when he was meeting with the stormlords.” He turned to Stannis. “Grandfather Estermont was here. He wants to speak to you once you're back, Stannis. He said it is very, very important,” Renly said, his tone solemn and full of boyish self-importance.

Rickard Stark laughed. “My, what a conscientious boy,” he said, giving Renly a smile.

“Renly, this is Lord Rickard Stark, Lyanna's father,” Stannis made the introduction. “This is my younger brother, Lord Stark. I apologize for his unruly behavior. He has been indulged far too much by too many people,” Stannis said, gazing meaningfully at Maester Cressen. And at his wife. The maester looked away, Lyanna did not. She raised her eyebrows instead.

Renly was suddenly looking very serious and courteous. “It is a great honor to meet you, Lord Stark,” he bowed. He turned to Ned. “And you must be Ned Stark, Robert's good friend.”

Benjen laughed, and then replied before Ned could. “How do you know I'm not Ned Stark?”

“You have laughing eyes. Robert said Ned has sad eyes.” Renly was looking around uncertainly, suddenly a small boy again, vulnerable to the world. His gaze finally fixed itself on Ned again. “Am I right? Are you Ned?”

Ned knelt down, so that his face was level with Renly's. “Yes, I am Ned,” he said softly. “Your brother Robert is … was ... a good friend of mine.”

Renly nodded, satisfied. “Will you tell me stories about Robert when he was a boy? I always ask Stannis, but he would never tell me.”

Ned nodded. “Yes, if you would like that.”

Maester Cressen cleared his throat and spoke to Stannis. “My lord, our guests must be tired after the long journey. Their rooms have been prepared, perhaps they would like to retire and rest before dinner?”

“Yes, of course. Will you show them to their rooms, maester?” Stannis replied.

Cressen looked distracted, Stannis thought. He wondered what could be the matter.

“Patchface is ill again,” Renly whispered to Stannis as they were walking inside. “Maester Cressen has been worried.”

“What's wrong with him?” Stannis asked.

“A fever. It's not the contagious type, Maester Cressen said, but he won't let me see Patchface. Why can't I see him if his fever is not contagious?”

“I don't know. Ask Maester Cressen,” Stannis replied, distracted himself, his thoughts wandering to the day the fool first came to Storm's End. He missed Renly's look of disappointment.

Lyanna tried to pacify the boy. “If Patchface is ill, then he needs to rest. You can see him when he's better.”

“I don't want to play with him, or disturb him, I just want to visit him,” Renly replied, pouting. “Will you ask the maester, Lya? If I can see Patchface?”

“Yes, I will ask him later,” Lyanna replied. “But it's been a long journey, and we need to rest for a bit before dinner.”

Renly was still holding on to Lyanna's hand, looking reluctant to let go. But he finally did. “You have to tell me all about the tourney later. Promise me? Promise me, Lya?”

“Of course,” Lyanna smiled.

But it was mostly Benjen telling Renly about the tourney at dinner that night, with Lord Rickard chiming in here and there. Lyanna's father seemed very charmed by the little boy. Renly was excited, smiling, laughing and clapping his hands. Lyanna looked distracted, and worried. Perhaps it was a mistake telling her the things he did the night before they left King's Landing, Stannis thought. But he had wanted her opinion on the matter. He needed to know if he was worrying over nothing. But Lyanna's reaction had assured him that he was not. She thought it worrying too, the things the king and the crown prince had said to Stannis.

_So Lyanna's remark about Rhaegar unburdening himself to her, sharing his troubles with her, had absolutely no bearing on your decision to tell her?_ A stray voice whispered in his head.

_No. Absolutely not,_ he silenced the voice, firmly. This was not the time for self-doubt.

Ned was silent too, Stannis noticed, his eyes straying and glancing at his surrounding, not really taking in the conversation.

_Do you see him too, Ned? I see him still, every day. Sitting at the head of the table, barking orders, drinking and laughing and clapping everyone's back, beloved and admired, the rightful lord of Storm's End._

“Robert said you have two brothers, Ned, just like him. Where is your other brother? Didn't he want to come to Storm's End?” Renly was asking Ned. “It's the strongest castle in the Seven Kingdoms,” Renly declared proudly. “It has never been breached, not since the day King Durran built it.”

Stannis chastised his brother. “You should not exaggerate and brag. Or ask questions about things that do not concern you.”

And Stannis did not think it was right for Renly to call Ned Stark ' _Ned_ ' either, as if they were old friends too.

It was Lord Rickard who replied. “Oh, don't be too hard on him, Stannis. He's only curious. Boys are always curious, that's their nature. And Storm's End _is_ a very strong castle. Almost as strong as Winterfell.” He winked at Renly. Renly smiled, delighted.

Rickard Stark continued. “Well, Brandon is Ned's older brother. And my oldest son.”

“And your heir,” Renly chirped.

“Yes. We can't both be away from Winterfell for too long, so I told him to go home first. And his wife went with him.”

“Because there must always be a Stark in Winterfell,” Renly said.

“Clever boy. What a clever, clever boy,” Lord Rickard said. He turned to look at his daughter. “I hope my grandson will be as clever as Renly.”

“Or granddaughter,” Lyanna replied. “It could be a girl I'm carrying.”

****************

Stannis spent the rest of the night consulting with Maester Cressen, the old maester reporting on what had been going on while Stannis was away. Most of it involving disputes between various lords, Stannis was not surprised to find out. King Aerys' words rang in his ears. “ _Make me a lord, make me a richer lord, take my side in the dispute with that other lord, bring down my taxes.”_

_Oh yes, I understand, Your Grace. I understand perfectly well how infuriating it can be at times. But it is our duty, we have no choice in the matter._

“My grandfather was here?” He asked Cressen, to drown out the king's voice in his head.

“Yes, my lord. Regarding his dispute with Lord Penrose, about the hunting ground.”

Stannis frowned. “I have made my decision about that. We have ascertained that the woods in question falls within the border of Lord Penrose's land. A letter has been dispatched to Lord Estermont to inform him of that, if I recall.”

“Yes, Lord Estermont has received that letter, my lord. He was here to appeal his case to you personally.”

“To use his position as my mother's father to try to influence my decision, you mean,” Stannis grumbled. “I am the lord of the Stormlands, my duty is to all the lords here, not just to House Estermont. I can guess what my grandfather will say, by the way. He will say that were Robert still alive, Robert would be more sympathetic to his claim.”

“Lord Robert did not always take his side either. Not if Lord Estermont was truly in the wrong,” Cressen replied.

“My grandfather does not hold me in the same regard as he held Robert. He told my mother once I was a strange boy. A very strange boy. He has never liked me, not when I was a boy, and certainly not now that I am a man.”

“Perhaps,” Cressen said softly, almost warily, “you do not have to make your dislike of him so clear too, my lord.”

“I don't dislike him,” Stannis said, surprised. “I dislike his expectation that he should be given special treatment because he is my grandfather. The law is the law, justice is justice, blood and familial relationship notwithstanding.”

Maester Cressen was looking at him with a compassionate expression on his face. _Don't_ , Stannis thought. _I don't want your pity._ “Anything else?” Stannis said sharply.

“I have arranged for a feast to be held three days from now. Most of your lords bannermen will be attending. Except Lord Connington. His castellan sent his apology, Lord Connington is still in King's Landing it seems, and his return date is not yet certain.”

A deeper frown from Stannis. “I never commanded you to arrange a feast.”

The maester smiled. “Well, naturally I assume you had forgotten to put that in your letter, my lord. Of course you would want to hold a feast to honor your father-in-law. It is his first time visiting Storm's End after all.”

_You know me well enough by now to know that I do not forget things, old man._ But he let it go.

Ned Stark walked in at that moment. He looked apologetic when he saw Stannis. “Forgive me, I did not know you're with Master Cressen. I'll come back later.”

“No, I was just leaving, you can have the maester all to yourself.” Stannis wondered what it was Ned wanted to say to the maester that he could not say in front of Stannis.

“I wonder if Maester Cressen could show me where Robert is buried, tomorrow morning. Lyanna looked very tired tonight, I don't want to disturb her,” Ned said, before Stannis had left the room.

Before Cressen could answer, Stannis replied first. “I can show you. Be at the stables at first light tomorrow.”

Ned looked surprised at the offer, but nodded. “Of course. Thank you, Stannis.”

Ned was already waiting at the stables when Stannis arrived there the next morning. They rode in silence, neither of them speaking or trying to make conversation. And yet it was not an awkward or uncomfortable silence, as Stannis had expected.

“This is it,” Stannis said, when they reached the spot, overlooking Shipbreaker Bay. They both dismounted from their horses. Stannis had asked Lord Arryn that Robert's body be sent back from the Vale, to rest beside Steffon and Cassana Baratheon. Ned knelt down in front of their graves first, his mouth mumbling something silently. Praying to his tree gods? At Robert's grave, Ned touched the soil, smoothing it over at first, then clenching it tightly with his balled fist. Stannis looked away. He felt like he was intruding on something he should not be present for.

_I should have let Cressen show him the grave._

“If you or your father and brother would like to pray, there is a godswood close by,” Stannis said after a while.

Ned looked up. “Did you have it built for Lyanna?”

Stannis shook his head. “No, Robert did, after the betrothal.”

“He never told me,” Ned said, his voice almost a whisper.

“He meant it as a surprise, I suppose,” Stannis said with a shrug.

“Robert would have delighted in something like that,” Ned said, smiling. “He would have loved seeing the shock and the joy on Lyanna's face when she found out.” Ned looked remorseful suddenly. “I'm sure Lyanna was very happy when you showed it to her.”

“It was Maester Cressen who did that,” Stannis replied.

And as far as Stannis could tell, Lyanna had not spent a lot of time praying in the godswood. She seemed almost indifferent to it, in fact. _Well, that's something we have in common, at least. Indifference to the gods,_ Stannis thought.

He remembered what it was he had wanted to say to Ned Stark ever since King's Landing. “Don't think about the dead so much that you forget the living.”

Ned looked uncertain, hesitant. “What do you mean?” He finally asked.

“Your brothers are still living. Your real brothers. Your sister as well.” Too harsh? Stannis thought not.

Ned took it unflinchingly. “I understand. Thank you for the reminder. May I return the favor with a reminder of my own?”

“Go ahead.”

“It does not do to compare yourself to the dead too much. We will always fall short, people only remember the good about the dead,” Ned said gravely. Stannis tried to hide his look of astonishment, but failed completely. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really sure about the funeral rites in the Stormlands, but I went for burial based on this conversation between Jaime Lannister and Loras Tyrell in A Storm of Swords: 
> 
> “What did you do with Renly?” “I buried him with mine own hands, in a place he showed me once when I was a squire at Storm’s End. No one shall ever find him there to disturb his rest.” 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and for all the comments and kudos! Hope you are still enjoying the story :D


	17. Lyanna IX

_The trouble with someone unburdening himself to you is_ , _his burden is now your burden too._

A truly shared concern, in a way that Lyanna had not really felt with Rhaegar. She had wanted to say all the right things to Rhaegar, to ease his burden, to make him feel better, but she had not felt like his troubles were her responsibility too, the way she did now with Stannis.

_Of course it is different. That is how it should be. Stannis is my husband, his life is my life too. Our life, together. Rhaegar was …_

What was Rhaegar, exactly? Definition eluded her at that moment.

Her concerns were not allayed listening to her father questioning Stannis closely about the king and Rhaegar during the journey from King's Landing to Storm's End. Lyanna wondered if this was the important matter that her father wanted to discuss with Stannis. Her husband answered each question tersely, without much in the way of elaboration. She could see that Stannis was wary of her father's questions, perhaps even suspicious. Lyanna's father did not seem to notice Stannis' reluctance, or at least he acted as if he did not notice it, the stream of questions continuing until they almost reached Storm's End.

Lyanna was relieved when she finally spied the drum tower of Storm's End from a distance, looking like a spiked fist thrusting towards the sky. _Durran Godsgrief's way of showing defiance to the gods_ , Robert had told her, when he regaled her with the tale of the building of the castle.

_Elenei shielded him with her own body from the wrath of the gods_ , Robert had said, his voice full of awe.

_Durran and Elenei were foolish and irresponsible. They thought of nothing and no one except themselves_ , had been Stannis' take on the matter.

Lyanna wondered if Elenei ever regretted it. If there were moments late at night, perhaps, when the sound of silence dominated, when Elenei thought of her father the sea-god and her mother the goddess of the wind.

Or if she had truly decided to cast all thoughts of them aside, forever, for Durran. For love.

Lyanna wondered too if Durran ever regretted it. If he ever looked at Elenei in later years and wondered whether their love was worth all the blood that had soiled the stormlands.

_We are home_ , Lyanna cheered silently, when they finally reached the castle gate. And then was surprised at her own thought, that she was thinking of Storm's End as her home now. Stannis looked relieved too, Lyanna noticed, but his relief quickly faded into irritation when he caught sight of Renly running towards them, shouting and yelling in excitement. Lyanna thought it very sweet of Renly to come out to greet them, and she was relieved to see that the boy seemed well and happy. But one look at Stannis' expression and she knew he disapproved of Renly's behavior.

_He is much too hard on the boy_ , Lyanna thought, not for the first time since her marriage.

_Is this how he will be as a father too?_

_What a convoluted affair a marriage truly is_ , Lyanna contemplated. A tangled web of trust, mistrust, understanding and misunderstanding. Stannis had finally unburdened himself to her, had shared his concerns with her as she had wanted and expected, and yet that did not solve everything in their marriage.

Had she been expecting that it would? _No_ , she insisted, _I am not that naive._

_Aren't you?_

She did not have a chance to speak to her husband that night. The journey had so exhausted her, Lyanna fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow after dinner. Her husband spoke with Maester Cressen late into the night, and she did not notice what time he finally came to bed. When she woke in the morning, he was already gone. Showing Ned where Robert was buried, according to Maester Cressen. Lyanna felt guilty. She should have offered to take Ned there herself.

“Is Patchface still unwell?” She asked the maester at the end of their conversation.

“He is mending, my lady,” Cressen replied gravely. “The fever was at its peak not three days ago. I was worried we might lose him, in fact. But he seems to have rallied now.”

“You did not mention his illness in your letter, Maester Cressen,” Lyanna said softly.

“Forgive me, my lady. If there was any chance of Renly getting the fever too, I would have mentioned it, of course. But I have determined early on that the fever is not contagious.”

_You did not think that Stannis and I would care what happened to that fool_ , Lyanna thought. She could not blame the maester for thinking that about herself. Lyanna had seldom concerned herself with the fool. His songs and words frightened her, in truth, sounding so much like ominous threats to Lyanna's ears. And Patchface would look at her sometimes with a strange smile on his face, as if he was in possession of some secret about her, as if he could see through her, inside her, to the deep dark core no one else could see.

_I'm being foolish_ , she chastised herself. _He is an unfortunate soul, robbed of his mind. That is all there is to it._

Stannis had allowed the fool to remain at Storm's End, a constant reminder of the day the sea had robbed Stannis and his brothers of their father and mother. Did he care for Patchface?

_I have never heard him yell at Patchface, the way he often does at Renly_ , Lyanna recalled. But perhaps that was only because getting angry at an insensible fool was a fool's errand.

Later that day, Lyanna escorted Ned and Benjen to tour the castle. Her father had declined to accompany them. “There will be plenty of time later,” he had replied. Lord Rickard Stark was having fun spending time with Renly, the boy telling him stories, acting out various parts, even putting on costumes.

“I hope my grandson will be as clever as Renly,” Lyanna's father had told her at dinner last night. Would he be disappointed if the child she was carrying turned out to be a girl? Would Stannis? She would have to bear him at least one son, she knew, to be the heir of Storm's End. But this child, this child growing inside her now, she had been thinking of this child as a 'she' from the very beginning.

His mother had been convinced that she was carrying a girl when she was pregnant with Renly, Stannis had told Lyanna. Cassana Baratheon even had a name already picked out for that baby. Shireen. Shireen Baratheon. But the child turned out to be a boy, and he was named Renly instead. And his mother never lived to see Renly grow his first teeth, take his first step, or say his first word.

_If this child is a girl, we will name her Shireen._ “Shireen Baratheon,” she tried saying the name out loud. It felt right to Lyanna.

“Who's Shireen Baratheon?” Benjen asked. “Another one of those Baratheons famous for their fury?”

Lyanna's face reddened. She had forgotten that she was with her brothers for a moment.

Ned was smiling. “Is it a name for the baby, Lya? If it's a girl?”

Benjen was grinning widely. “What if it's a boy? What will you call it?”

“The baby is not an 'it'!” Lyanna protested, pretending to be annoyed so that her brothers would move on to other subjects. But she underestimated them, obviously. Benjen would not let it go, and Ned was surprisingly gleeful too, joining in on the speculation.

“If it's a boy, will you name him after Stannis' father? Steffon Baratheon, isn't it?” Ned asked.

Lyanna shook her head. “I doubt it. Stannis is not exactly fond of the tradition of naming your child after the dead. Especially the recently dead. _They will always feel second-best_ , according to Stannis.”

Ned nodded. “That makes sense.” He paused, his brows creasing, looking concerned. “But do you agree with him, Lya? It will be your child too, not just his.”

She smiled. “I agree, actually. I don't want my children to feel like they have to live up to some unattainable standard set by their namesake. And you know how it is with the dead, we tend to romanticize them, magnifying their glories tenfold and forgetting their flaws.”

“Well, I guess that rules out 'Robert' too,” Benjen said. Lyanna was surprised, it had not occurred to her at all to name a son of hers after Robert. Should it have? She wondered suddenly.

“Shireen is a beautiful name,” Ned said.

“It sounds almost too … exotic,” Benjen mused. “Are you sure your law-and-order, by-the-book husband will agree to it?” He laughed.

Lyanna's irritation was real this time. “I don't appreciate you making fun of my husband. Even if you and Brandon view him with derision, he is part of our family now.”

“But I'm not making fun of him! I'm quite sure Stannis would take that as a compliment,” Benjen replied with wide-eyed innocence that did not fool Lyanna for one moment.

“It is not about how Stannis might take it, it is about your own intention,” Lyanna said, her tone gentler this time. She did not want to quarrel with her brother, she might not see him again for a long time after this.

“You laughed at him too, after you met him for the first time. You mocked the way he insisted that you should call him Lord Baratheon, and not Lord Stannis.” Benjen's tone was poised between aggrieved and conciliatory, as if he could not decide whether to be annoyed or contrite.

“He was not my husband at the time,” Lyanna replied. “He is now. I don't like it when my husband is mocked and made fun of, especially by my own brothers. Stannis himself might not care, but I do.”

“Then I will not do it. For your sake, Lya,” Benjen said, looking solemn.

She kissed her youngest brother on his cheek. “Thank you.”

“You truly _are_ married now, aren't you?” Ned whispered to her.

“What do you mean?” Lyanna asked, surprised. “I have been married for many months.”

“A wedding ceremony is not the same as a marriage,” Ned replied.

Lyanna pondered the meaning of those words, as she made her way to Patchface's room later. She thought it her duty as the lady of Storm's End to visit him; he was living under their care and protection after all. Her husband was already in the room, standing stiffly beside the fool's bed, intently watching Patchface's sleeping face as if he could find the answer to a very important question there.

“His songs frightened me too, sometimes,” Stannis broke the silence after a while. _Too?_ So he knew about her fear.

“What do you think they're really about? His songs?” Lyanna asked, her hand reaching for her husband.

“Who knows? I doubt he knows it himself.”

“They seem … almost like … a warning,” Lyanna said. She turned her face away, embarrassed. “I'm being silly.”

“A warning?”

_A warning not from him, but from someone else, or something else, conveyed through him._ Lyanna was pondering whether to tell her husband this.It sounded foolish even to her own ears, it would probably sound even more foolish to her husband's southerner ears. Lyanna might not have spent a lot of time praying in the godswood lately, but she had been a child of the north, raised with stories about the children of the forest and what roamed beyond the Wall. Not so for Stannis.

“So this is the fool who lives while your father and mother died.” Her father's voice interrupted Lyanna's consideration. “I am amazed you still keep him here, Stannis. At Storm's End, to this day.”

“There is nowhere else for him to go. My lord father bought the fool, he is the Baratheon's responsibility until the end of his days,” Stannis replied.

“Perhaps he is the happiest creature among us, living in his own dream world, free of worries and concerns,” Lyanna's father said, his expression thoughtful.

“I would not want to live in a dream world. I want to live knowing the truth, always,” Stannis said, his eyes never leaving Rickard Stark's face.

Rickard Stark nodded. “Knowing the truth, and facing it without fear. I think it's time for us to have that conversation, Stannis.”


	18. Stannis IX

_We have found the most splendid fool. Only a boy, yet nimble as a monkey and witty as a dozen courtiers. He juggles and riddles and does magic, and he can sing prettily in four tongues. We have bought his freedom and hope to bring him home with us. Robert will be delighted with him, and perhaps in time he will even teach Stannis how to laugh._

His father had written those words to Maester Cressen, a fortnight before he and his wife were supposed to return home from that futile mission to find a bride for Rhaegar Targaryen. The maester had told Stannis about the fool Steffon Baratheon was bringing home, but he had neglected to mention his father's wish that the fool might teach Stannis how to laugh.

Robert had read that part out loud to Stannis, after the funeral. He had gone looking for the letter in Maester Cressen's room, making a mess of everything in the process, while the maester was still in the great hall greeting the guests and mourners.

“What are you doing?” Stannis had admonished him. “This is the maester's room. You have no right!”

“I have every right!” Robert had shouted. “That letter was from our father. His last letter. His last words.”

“That letter was from Father to the maester, not to us. And if you really want to read it, you should ask Maester Cressen first,” Stannis pointed out.

“I am Lord of Storm's End now. I have every right. Every right in the world,” Robert replied, not shouting this time. The words were said with so much sorrow and hurt, Stannis did not have the heart to contradict his brother.

“Well, we will have to keep that fool here at Storm's End, of course,” Robert had said after he finished reading the letter out loud.

“Because he is our responsibility now?” Stannis had asked.

Robert had smiled, very, very briefly. The first smile to graze his lips since the day Windproud had its final encounter with that ferocious storm. “Because anyone who could make my dour, humorless brother laugh is a priceless treasure. That fool must know real magic if he could really do that.”

Stannis had scoffed in reply. “I doubt he can make _anyone_ laugh now. Not even _you_ , who are so easily amused by anything silly and frivolous. Maester Cressen said his mind is completely gone. He can barely speak, and the things he says make no sense at all.”

“Two days under the sea would do that to you,” Robert had replied, seemingly already losing interest in the unfortunate creature.

“Do you think … he … he could tell us -” Stannis changed his mind abruptly before he had completed the question. “Never mind,” he said instead.

Robert was staring at him, curious. “Tell us what? What do you want to know from that fool?”

Stannis shook his head. “Nothing. I don't think he can tell us anything,” he said firmly.

_Were Mother and Father together when the ship went down? Were they holding hands? Were they afraid?_

_Did they see Robert and me waiting for them at the parapet?_

_Did they pray to the Seven, like I did?_

_Were they as furious as I had been with the gods, for refusing to listen?_

But Stannis knew that even if the fool could still speak sensibly, even if he had not lost his mind, he still could not have told Stannis the answers to those questions. Patchface must have been too scared himself, too busy worrying about his own fate as Windproud was sinking, to be observing or thinking about Steffon Baratheon and his lady wife.

And yet even _knowing_ that as an indisputable fact had not stopped Stannis from trying to find meaning in the fool's insensible words and songs. Was Patchface reliving the sinking of the ship and his near drowning with his songs? He sang often of the merwives under the sea with their gowns made of silver weeds. But to Stannis' great disappointment, the fool's tongue was completely silent on the subject of Steffon Baratheon and Cassana Estermont.

His wife was afraid of Patchface, Stannis finally realized, perhaps much later than he should. He had taken Lyanna's avoidance of the fool as mere indifference at first, or perhaps even disgust at such a hideous creature sharing their home. But he finally understood that it was not indifference or disgust that made her walk out of a room when Patchface was singing one of his songs, or meet the fool's gaze with a defiant, almost hostile stare of her own. The fool's songs troubled her greatly, and Stannis was almost afraid to ask why.

 _A song is only a song, and a dream is only a dream_ , Stannis reminded himself forcefully. _I am not a man who believes in anything I cannot see and hear with my own eyes and ears._

“I think it's time for us to have that conversation, Stannis.” And yet, when Rickard Stark had spoken those words, Stannis was assailed by a sudden fear so great, he had almost silently prayed to the Seven, before violently stopping himself just in time.

_The gods did not listen then, why would they listen now?_

And who was he to pray to them now, he thought, when he had cursed them in every way possible, had promised himself never to believe again, had vowed never to worship again, from the very day his mother and father was buried.

They were standing at the parapet overlooking Shipbreaker Bay, Stannis and his father-in-law. Lord Rickard had led the way from Patchface's room, and Stannis had followed silently. Two days at Storm's End, and the Lord of Winterfell was already as familiar with the castle as if he had owned it himself. Rickard Stark did not seem to be in a hurry to start the conversation. He was gazing out to sea, his mouth set in a grim frown.

“This is where you were standing, wasn't it? You and Robert, waiting for your father's ship to dock,” he finally broke the silence.

Stannis was not surprised that Lord Rickard had known this. Robert must have told Ned, and Ned Stark had told his father, Stannis thought. He nodded. “Yes. Robert was home from the Eyrie for a visit.”

“Such an ill-fated trip. And an unnecessary one too,” Rickard Stark sighed. “The blame lies not with your lord father of course,” he added quickly, after he noticed Stannis stiffening beside him, “but with the king. There was no need for him to send your lord father and your lady mother on that fruitless trip. A wife for Prince Rhaegar could have been found among the daughters of the many lords of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“It was a storm that killed my father and mother, not His Grace the king,” Stannis replied.

“They would not have been caught up in that storm if they had not gone on the trip His Grace commanded,” his father-in-law insisted.

“We might as well blame Prince Rhaegar too, in that case. After all, it was for the purpose of finding a bride for him that they went on that trip,” Stannis voiced the thought that he had not voiced to anyone else before.

“The prince was against it, did you know that?” Rickard Stark did not wait for Stannis to reply. “He told his father he would be more than content to marry a woman from the Seven Kingdoms. But King Aerys … no … King Aerys insisted on a bride with the blood of old Valyria flowing inside her. Nothing else was good enough, supposedly. And yet in the end he married his son off to a Dornish woman,” Lord Rickard scoffed.

“Dorne is still part of the Seven Kingdoms,” Stannis pointed out to his father-in-law.

“Just barely,” Lord Rickard replied serenely. “The point is, if he had consented to that match earlier, perhaps your father and mother would not have to die.”

“I do not blame the king for their death,” Stannis said stiffly, and firmly.

“Who do you blame, then? You blame _someone_ , I am certain of it. You would not be this angry and bitter otherwise,” Lord Rickard said, gazing shrewdly at Stannis.

“Perhaps I was born angry and bitter,” Stannis replied.

Rickard Stark laughed. “Well, well. Maybe I have misjudged you after all. You are not as humorless as I have always thought.” Stannis was about to protest that he had not been jesting, but his father-in-law surprised him by touching his arm and squeezing it gently. “No one is born angry and bitter, Stannis. Not even you,” he said softly. “If you do not blame the king, do you blame your gods, then? The Seven with all their rules and insistence on order, and yet still cruel and disordered enough to snatch the lives of two blameless people as their sons stood watching.”

How could he have known? Stannis had not told Robert this.

“Like you, I value order too. Order, predictability, stability,” Lord Rickard said.

“Then perhaps you should worship the Seven instead of the old gods,” Stannis retorted.

Rickard Stark smiled. “That is no more likely than you worshiping the gods of the north, despite your anger for the Seven. You would rather not worship anything at all.” He paused. “It is a futile endeavor, blaming the gods. Their actions are completely out of our control. Our own action, on the other hand … What we choose to do, how we decide when that day finally comes, that could determine everything.”

 _That day?_ Stannis had no idea what his father-in-law meant by that.

Stannis thought of the king's words to him, and Prince Rhaegar's words as well. He was seeing the same pattern with this conversation with Lord Rickard. “War is the enemy of order and stability,” Stannis said emphatically.

“Order and stability is the final destination. How we get there, well …” Lord Rickard shrugged. “And there might not have to be a war, if people such as yourself choose wisely.”

“ _They are trying to seduce you, the king and the crown prince both. Vying for your support. The king with all his talk of blood ties and loyalty, and the crown prince with all his talk of duty,_ ” Lyanna had said to Stannis, when he had finally opened up to her about his worries.

What should he tell his wife now? _Your father is trying to seduce me too, Lyanna._


	19. Lyanna X

His hand had fumbled trying to remove the blanket covering her, that first night. They had both been stripped for the bedding ceremony, but once the door was closed and it was only the two of them in the room, Stannis had handed a blanket to Lyanna, his eyes looking everywhere except at his naked wife, obviously expecting her to cover herself. He had covered himself with another blanket, and the two of them sat on opposite sides of the bed, not looking at each other, not saying a word, barely even breathing.

For a moment, Lyanna was almost relieved. _Perhaps he means to go to sleep_ , she had thought. But then relief turned to annoyance. If not tonight, it would have to be some other night; they were married after all, and she was expected to provide him with an heir. _That is your duty_ , her father had reminded her over and over again before the wedding. She was trapped now, in a cage both of her own making and not of her own making. She only wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.

If she was truly honest with herself, what she really wanted was for there to be no way back at all. For the marriage to be consummated and therefore binding in the eyes of gods and men, so that she would never be tempted again. Never be tempted to cause hurt to another woman - no, to one woman in particular - in the name of love.

Her husband's hesitation – and perhaps even fear? - strengthened Lyanna's own resolve. She made her way quietly to his side of the bed, sitting beside him, as close as she dared. He said nothing at first, barely reacting to her presence. But then she caught him stealing a glance at her, quick as lightning, his face flushed. She waited for him to make the next move.

Waited … and waited … and waited, to no avail. Their breathing were almost synchronized now, she could feel it from the rise and fall of his chest, but still, he did nothing.

“Stannis,” she called out his name finally, after her patience had worn thin. He turned to look at her. “Yes?” He snapped impatiently, his mouth frowning, as if she had distracted him from contemplating the mystery of existence itself. But his eyes betrayed him, they were telling a different story. She had never really noticed them before, those bottomless blue eyes. She stared and stared.

He stopped breathing. And then suddenly he was breathing as if he was underwater, a drowning man desperately grasping for shore. She took his right hand and guided it to her left shoulder. He pushed the blanket off on that side, while his left hand fumbled and shook nervously trying to push off the blanket on the other side. She grasped that hand and guided it too, slowly but surely, and then she was fully unclothed. He stared and stared.

She could not remember now if Stannis had removed the blanket covering himself on his own, or if she had done that, or if they had done it together; it had happened so quickly. He had called out her name, she recalled, called out her name questioningly, as if to make sure that she was certain.

“Lyanna?”

“Yes, I'm sure,” she whispered.

“You're sure? About what?” Stannis asked.

 _How clueless could he be?_ She was about reply, when she suddenly realized that she was no longer in the land of memory, that her husband was really standing in front of her, fully clothed and not naked, looking at her with what passed as an amused expression for Stannis Baratheon.

“What are you sure about?” He asked again. “And why were you whispering?”

“Nothing.” She was blushing, to her great consternation. “I was just ... thinking of something.”

“Anything in particular?”

“Nothing important,” she said firmly. “What did my father have to say?”

Stannis took a deep breath. “Are you sure you want to know?”

She did not hesitate. “Yes, I'm sure.”

“Your father has chosen a side. Or perhaps … he has chosen his own side, I am not certain, he was quite vague. But whatever it is, he has not chosen the king.”

“I didn't know there _were_ sides to choose from,” Lyanna said.

“Don't you?”

Lyanna met her husband's gaze, and held it. “No, you're right, I do know. I just don't want to admit it.”

“I don't either,” Stannis said softly.

“I don't want this night to end,” Stannis had said to her that first night, after their union. She had laughed, and replied, “There will be other nights.” He had frowned. “Not like this. Not when we _have_ to.”

 _It will be better when we don't_ have _to_ , she had thought, but not said. _Much better._ And she had been proven right.

“Has Father chosen Rhaegar, then?” Lyanna was asking her husband now.

“I think so, yes, He spoke of a council, and a new king promising more autonomy for the north.”

“A council? Not very likely,” Lyanna scoffed. “King Aerys would go to war first.” Surely her father could not be that naïve?

“Your father knows that.”

 _And is willing to pay the price._ “Perhaps … if I tell him … if I tell him about Rhaegar and myself -”

“What good will that do?” Stannis interrupted swiftly. “That is all in the past,” he said firmly, and then paused for a long while, his face deeply troubled. “And I am worried it might even drive him to a more drastic path.”

The Starks were kings once, her father had taught Lyanna and her brothers. King in the North.

If war really was coming, Stannis would have to choose too. The lord of the stormlands would have to pick a side as well.

 _It's not fair,_ Lyanna thought. She was only _just_ beginning to know happiness again. Only _just_ beginning to wake, after a long slumber of emptiness and numbness.

_I have decided to be happy._

_No,_ we _have decided to be happy._

She took her husband's hand, and guided him to their bed. His hand did not fumble while undressing her, this time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short chapter, a bit of respite from the coming storm, before all hell breaks loose in the next chapter. Thank you for still reading : D


	20. Stannis X

“A grand feast,” Benjen Stark said, winking at his sister. There was something in his tone, something more than mere playfulness. Was it mockery? It would not surprise Stannis if it was indeed mockery. Lyanna gave her brother a stern look, and the two Stark siblings engaged in a staring contest. Benjen lost; he was the first to look away, wilting under Lyanna's withering gaze. That did not surprise Stannis in the least.

“Perhaps we should invite singers and musicians to the feast, my lord. Or even fools and jesters,” Maester Cressen had suggested. “To showcase the songs and stories of the south to Lord Stark and his sons. ”

“He's been to the south before,” Stannis had replied. “This is not his first time leaving Winterfell.”

“The south, yes, but not the stormlands,” Maester Cressen pointed out.

Singers with their bawdy, ribald and obscene songs. And songs about the romance and glory of wars and battles. Stannis wanted neither at his feast. Especially now. “Musicians only,” he declared. “No singers, fools or jesters. And tell the musicians not to play too loudly.”

Rickard Stark had not seemed displeased with the feast. Indeed, he was too busy conversing with the other guests to notice the lack of entertainment. At the moment, he was deep in conversation with Lord Estermont, their voices too low for Stannis to know what was the subject occupying his grandfather and his father-in-law. They had both glanced at Stannis from time to time, as if _he_ was the subject of their conversation.

“And what did Robert do, then?” Renly's voice, loud and excited, could be heard clearly over the music. Ned Stark whispered something to him, and Renly laughed uproariously. Ned was laughing too, albeit not as loudly and rudely as Renly. Renly had cajoled, begged and pleaded Stannis to attend the feast. Stannis had absolutely forbidden it at first; the boy was too young and too unruly to behave properly in front of guests.

“They won't be here for long, the Starks. And it was so lonely when you and Lyanna were gone. I was here alone. You left me alone,” Renly had complained, amidst his tears.

“Nonsense!” Stannis had snapped. “You were never alone. Maester Cressen and the rest of the household were here the whole time.”

“It's not the same!” Renly had shouted.

“Stop shouting. If you can't behave yourself with me now, how can I trust you to behave yourself in front of all the guests?”

That had only made the boy cry harder. Stannis had walked away in anger, leaving Renly still sobbing. But he had let Renly come to the feast, in the end. He could not explain why, even to himself.

He was regretting that inexplicable decision now.

The music was still to loud for Stannis' liking. The _boom boom boom_ of the drum was making his head pound incessantly. Even the sound of the guests slurping their soup irritated him beyond measure.

_Why can't they eat without making so much noise?_

_When will this blasted feast end?_

He was almost ready to explode.

Lyanna's hand grasped his hand firmly, her fingers tickling his palm. He turned to look at her, but her attention was seemingly fixed on Lady Selmy, the two women smiling and exchanging stories about … rabies? Or babies. Stannis could not tell for sure, Lyanna's fingers on his palm were so very, very distracting. He should make her stop immediately, he knew. But he let her continue. At least it was making the pounding in his head cease for a moment.

After a while, he realized that Lady Selmy was looking at him with a slightly quizzical expression on her face. Stannis quickly turned his face away.

_What is the lady's problem?_

Lady Selmy was whispering to Lyanna, but not softly enough to escape Stannis' hearing. “Lord Stannis must be very happy to be a father. I don't think I have ever seen him smile like that.” She paused. “I don't think I have ever seen him smile at all, actually.”

A commotion broke out at the back of the hall before Lyanna could reply to Lady Selmy. A man was making his way with haste to their table, knocking over a few serving boys carrying food and drinks in his urgency.

“Lord Baratheon. My lord,” the man shouted even before he arrived in front of Stannis. Stannis recognized the man as the castellan of Griffin's Roost.

“A raven … a raven from King's Landing, my lord.” He was breathless, barely able to speak.

“Give him some water,” Stannis ordered a serving boy standing nearby.

“No, no, my lord. There is no time. A raven arrived from King's Landing. The king has arrested Lord Connington, along with Prince Rhaegar and Ser Arthur Dayne of the Kingsguard. The charge … the charge is treason, my lord. Conspiring to depose the king, to put Prince Rhaegar on the throne before his time comes.”

Shock, confusion, and loud voices filled the hall. Before Stannis could say anything, Lord Cafferen was shouting. “Treason? Absolute nonsense! This must be the work of the Spider, whispering lies in the king's ears.” Other voices joined in, the ruckus too confusing for Stannis to know what they were saying.

The castellan of Griffin's Roost was on his knees, pleading to Stannis. “My lord, Lord Connington is your sworn bannerman. He has always been loyal to you, and to your brother before you. He is being wrongfully and unjustly persecuted. Will you appeal to the king for justice?”

“Justice! Justice!” Multiple voices were shouting, among them Stannis' own grandfather, Lord Estermont.

Maester Cressen was making his way back to his seat with difficulty, his face grave, his hand holding a scroll. A scroll stamped with the royal seal. He started reading. “King Aerys II Targaryen hereby commands Stannis of the House Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, to present himself to the king -”

More noises and commotion, louder this time, drowning out Maester Cressen's voice. “Is the king planning to arrest Lord Stannis too?” Someone was asking, a voice Stannis did not recognize.

Lord Estermont stood up. “Perhaps it is time call your banner, Stannis, and march to King's Landing. If indeed the king plans to do the same injustice to you that he is doing to your bannerman Lord Connington, and to his own son. We will march with you, House Estermont. And the other Houses too, I am certain,” he said, his gaze sweeping over the other lords.

“Yes!” Some of them cheered, but not all of them, Stannis noticed. Some stayed silent.

Maester Cressen was trying mightily to be heard over the ruckus and commotion, to no avail.

“Silence!” Stannis pounded his hand on the table. “Let the maester finish reading the letter.”

The hall was as silent as a crypt, for the first time that night. Maester Cressen continued his reading. “The king has summoned Lord Stannis to King's Landing to accept the appointment as the new Hand of the King.”

Shocked faces filled the hall, people looking at each other warily, trying to decipher what this meant. Lord Rickard smiled a sardonic smile. “Very brilliant and ingenious of the king,” he said.

Stannis stared at his father-in-law with anger. “I am not a man that can be easily bought with riches and position,” Stannis said in a caustic tone.

“No, no, no,” Lord Rickard was shaking his head vigorously. “It is neither riches nor position the king is offering you. It is duty he is laying out for you, in a platter full of thorns. And he thinks he knows you well enough to know that you will not refuse it.” Lord Rickard's eyes were not letting go of Stannis. “Is he right?”

Stannis did not reply; he made his way out of the hall instead. Lyanna motioned for the musicians to start playing again, and the feast continued with the next course, pigeons stuffed with mushrooms. Lyanna followed Stannis to their room.

“I'm coming with you. To King's Landing,” she said, as soon as they were in the room and the door was closed.

Stannis was shocked. “I do not know yet if I will accept the appointment.”

“But you are still going to King's Landing. If not to accept the appointment as Hand of the King, then to ensure that Jon Connington receives a fair trial.”

Stannis nodded. “He is my sworn bannerman. It is my duty to see that he is not being treated in an unjust manner.” He stared at his wife. “You know me too well.”

“Too well for your liking?” Lyanna asked, smiling. It was the saddest smile Stannis had ever seen, on her face or on anyone else's.

“No,” he said softly, his hand grazing her lips. “Don't say anything yet, just listen. You can't come to King's Landing.”

Lyanna was about to protest, but the look on Stannis' face silenced her. “I need you here, at Storm's End.”

“You have Maester Cressen, and the castellan. Storm's End does not need me.”

“Yes, it does. Especially now. And Renly … Renly needs you too. And there is the baby to consider.”

“We can bring Ren-” Lyanna started speaking, but then shook her head. “I am being foolish, aren't I? We can't bring Renly to King's Landing.”

Stannis shook his head too. “No, we can't. We don't know what is going to happen at King's Landing. Things could get … dangerous.” He hesitated. Closed his eyes to steel his nerves and say what must be said. “If something were to happen to me, you must protect Renly and our child. I don't trust anyone else to do it, not even my grandfather.”

“I will,” Lyanna replied without hesitation. She did not say, “nothing will happen to you.” He was grateful for that. She had not said, “don't go.” He was grateful for that as well.

It was the truth, what he had told her. About Renly and their baby, and about Storm's End needing its mistress in times of uncertainty. But he also wanted her here for her own sake.

Knowing his wife, though, that was the last thing in the world that would convince her to stay, so he did not tell her that.

 


	21. Lyanna XI

“Stay,” she wanted to tell her husband. “Don't go.” But it was an option already precluded for her, married to this man. And Lyanna also realized that it was dangerous for Stannis to ignore the summon from the king. Volatile and unstable as King Aerys was, no one knew how he would react to his command being ignored.

She wanted to go with him, wanted it more than anything else. _How silly_ , she reproached herself later. _As if I could protect him from the king._

_Why not?_ She rebelled against her own reproachful thoughts. She had fought, in disguise, during the tourney at Harrenhal after all, and beaten quite a few knights without much difficulty.

_You were not carrying a child inside you, then._

At times she still felt like a child herself. A child resisting change, wanting things to stay the same. Because their lives would never be the same again, she had realized, the instant Maester Cressen started reading that letter. She prayed for time to reverse itself. She wished fervently that those two ravens had never arrived.

_Wishes and prayers are for fools_ , she had heard Stannis saying to Maester Cressen once. But she did not care, they were all she had now.

Renly had cried. Renly had yelled, “Don't go!” as Stannis was leaving. “You only just came back, why are you leaving again?” He had grabbed Stannis' hand forcefully, refusing to let go. Stannis had not said anything, not one word, had not reprimanded Renly the way he usually would have done when he thought Renly was “misbehaving” or “making a scene.” Lyanna and Ned between them managed to pry Renly loose, the boy sobbing uncontrollably as Stannis rode away.

“Why is he going to see the king if the king is mad at him? What if the king punishes Stannis?” Renly was asking Lyanna amidst his tears. Lyanna had almost forgotten that Renly was present at the feast, when the castellan of Griffin's Roost had made his appeal to Stannis, and Maester Cressen had read the letter from the king.

“The king is not mad at Stannis,” Lyanna said as reassuringly as she could, her hand wiping away the tears from Renly's cheeks.

Lyanna's father had sent Benjen back to Winterfell with a letter for Brandon. A very important letter that must be delivered to his hand and his hand only, Lyanna had overheard the instruction. _What are you planning, Father?_ Her father had sent Benjen instead of Ned because Stannis had asked Ned to stay at Storm's End while he was away.

The next few days after Stannis left felt like a dream to Lyanna. She was counting the days until he reached King's Landing. Part of her wished he would never arrive there, or he would suddenly decide to turn back. Her father was still at Storm's End, frequently engaged in hushed conversations with Lord Estermont, Stannis' grandfather. Lyanna walked in on them during one such conversation, and they both clammed up immediately when they saw her. She wanted to shout – _What are you whispering? What are you planning and plotting under my husband's roof? Under my roof?_ But a lifetime of forced courtesy stayed her tongue, and she merely smiled and quickly left the room.

She shared her concern about their father with Ned. Ned nodded, looking thoughtful. “Something was going on between Brandon and Father during the tourney. There were a few occasions when they quickly turned silent when Benjen and I came into the room while they were talking.”

“What is Father planning?” She was worried for her father too. She loved him, despite everything.

“Maybe you should ask him,” Ned said.

Lyanna deflected the suggestion. “Maybe _you_ should. You're his son after all, I'm merely a daughter. He would say that it is none of my concern, if I'm the one asking the question.”

Ned looked sad. “I don't think he trusts me so much more either. Not like he does with Brandon. But of course that is as it should be, Brandon is his heir.” He paused. “Whatever it is he's planning, Stannis seems to be involved somehow, with or without his knowledge. It _is_ your concern, you have a right to know, as Stannis' wife. We'll ask him together.”

Lyanna considered it. It was a sweet offer, but she knew it was something she had to do on her own. “Thank you, Ned, but no. I will ask Father myself.” Tomorrow, she resolved. First thing in the morning.

She was formulating the questions she wanted to ask her father in her mind, when Ned suddenly changed the subject so abruptly Lyanna thought the floor was spinning. “Is it because of the crown prince? Is it because of him you didn't make a fuss about Stannis going to King's Landing?”

She had no clue what Ned was driving at. She stared at him, mystified. “I know, Lya.” Ned said plaintively. “I know about you and Rhaegar.”

So many questions she wanted to ask her brother. _What exactly do you know? How did you find out? Did Robert know?_ But there was one question foremost in her mind, above all else.

“What do you mean when you asked if it was because of Rhaegar that I did not make a fuss about Stannis going to King's Landing? Ned?”

Ned looked uncomfortable. “You know what I mean, Lya.”

“No, I don't. You're going to have to spell it out for me.”

“Did you … did you want Stannis to go to King's Landing in part … in part ... for Rhaegar's sake?”

She had poured wine over Benjen's head when Benjen had teased her about crying, listening to Rhaegar's song. She almost regretted not having a goblet of wine in her hand now; she would have poured it over Ned's head.

“What exactly are you asking me, Ned? Did I want my husband to purposely put himself in danger so he can rescue the man I once loved?” Lyanna asked, her voice full of disdain. “Is that what you're accusing me of?”

Ned was shaking his head vigorously, his expression full of regret. He took Lyanna's hand. “No, Lya. I am not accusing you of anything.”

Lyanna snatched her hand away, her anger still boiling. “You were! That is exactly what you were doing. Did it ever occur to you the danger Stannis would be in if he ignores the king's command? Or were you too busy doubting me, suspecting me, to think about that?”

Ned looked ashamed. “Forgive me. I have wronged you. Very, very badly.”

And yet, Lyanna wondered later, why had she been so angry at Ned for bringing up the matter? It was not a completely unreasonable assumption for an outsider to make, considering the circumstances.

_Ned is not an outsider, he is my brother. He should know me better than that._

It had hurt, a lot, Ned accusing her of that. And yet, part of her wondered …

_No! The thought had never occurred to me, not until Ned brought it up._ She knew this to be the truth. She had no reason to doubt herself.

A horrifying thought struck her suddenly. What if that same suspicion had occurred to Stannis? What if he had interpreted her reaction to him going to King's Landing the same way Ned did?

Before she could vex herself even more, Renly walked into her bedroom. He had obviously been crying again, his eyes red, his cheeks trailing dried tears. He was looking more and more like Robert did as a boy, Ned had told Lyanna. Renly sat down next to her on the bed, embracing her tightly. Lyanna returned the embrace with one hand, her other hand smoothing over his unruly hair.

“Can't you sleep? Do you want me to read you a story?”

He shook his head. Renly already knew his letters, Maester Cressen had started teaching him early, but he insisted on Lyanna reading to him most nights.

“Or do you want me to tell you more about the children of the forest?”

He shook his head again. “Can I sleep with you, Lya?” Renly whispered, his hand clutching her nightdress.

“Just for tonight,” Lyanna replied. “You're a brave boy, aren't you?”

“Yes, I am.” He looked pleased. “Just for tonight. I promise,” Renly said solemnly.

Truthfully, she was glad for the company. She sang to him the song her mother used to sing when Lyanna had trouble falling asleep as a child. But they both stayed awake, Renly and Lyanna, neither drifting into the land of dreams.

“Do you want me to tell you a story?” Renly asked, after Lyanna was done with her song.

“What is it about?”

“It's about a stag who married a she-wolf,” Renly replied. “They did not like each other very much at first,” he whispered, giggling.

Lyanna laughed. “Well, go on. What happened next?”

 


	22. Stannis XI

 “He is here,” Ser Barristan whispered softly to the woman standing in front of the carved figure of the Mother.

The queen was with child, Stannis realized with shock, as the woman turned to face Stannis. How had he missed it during the tourney? The bulge was visible despite the very loosely fitting robe she was wearing. Her face was hidden behind a veil.

Was she praying to the Seven? It seemed odd to Stannis. The Targaryens had their own gods, Stannis knew.

“Kneel, Lord Stannis,” the queen whispered softly. “Kneel like you are praying.” She proceeded to do so herself.

Stannis hesitated. “Your Grace, I –“

Ser Barristan whispered impatiently to Stannis. “The queen is not asking you to pray! This is the only way to talk without arousing suspicion.”

It made sense, Stannis thought. They were in a sept after all. A small, secluded sept located outside the city gate. He kneeled down next to the queen. Ser Barristan stood back a little further behind, standing guard.

_Well, that’s not very shrewd_ , Stannis thought. The queen seemed to be trying to conceal her identity with the robe and the veil, but Ser Barristan’s presence would have announced to anyone watching that a member of the royal family was present. Barristan Selmy was not wearing his Kingsguard uniform, but Stannis had no doubt that most people in King’s Landing would have recognized Barristan the Bold, no matter what clothes he was in.

Stannis admonished himself for falling for the cloak-and-dagger nonsense. Not just falling for it, but actively involving himself in it. He had refused to come, at first, when Ser Barristan had accosted him just outside the city gate with the summon from the queen.

“My order from the king is to see him immediately, as soon as I arrive in King’s Landing,” Stannis had protested. “Please let Her Grace know that I will come to her as soon as the king is done with me.”

“But you have not arrived yet, Lord Stannis,” Ser Barristan said solemnly. “You have not crossed the gate to the city. We are still outside King’s Landing at the moment.”

Stannis scoffed. “Surely you do not actually believe in that argument, Ser Barristan. And the queen is in the Red Keep, which is _inside_ the city.”

“No, she wishes to meet with you somewhere else. Not in the Red Keep, and not inside the city.”

_Somewhere else?_ _Does that mean Queen Rhaella is on her son’s side?_

 “The king has made his command clear, Ser Barristan. I have to obey my king,” Stannis replied firmly. “I will see the queen afterwards, if she still wishes to speak to me then.”

Ser Barristan sighed. “Her Grace was right after all, she knew you would be this stubborn,” he said, his hand handing a letter to Stannis. “This is from her own hand.”

Stannis stared at the letter with suspicion. “From Queen Rhaella? For myself?”

Ser Barristan was no longer hiding his impatience and disgust. “Yes, Lord Stannis, it is for you.” He pushed the letter into Stannis’ resisting hand. “If you still have any feeling for your late father’s cousin, then read it. Read it now, Lord Stannis.”

“The king is my father’s cousin too,” Stannis pointed out.

“So is the queen,” Ser Barristan refused to give up.

“Why are you doing this, Ser Barristan? You, a member of the Kingsguard, sworn to protect the king, sworn to serve him with absolute loyalty,” Stannis said.

“Perhaps there are times when the king must be protected from himself. From his own … instincts,” Ser Barristan replied. There was not much conviction in his voice, however.

Stannis waited silently. Barristan Selmy had more to say, he knew.

Sure enough, Barristan Selmy continued after a while. “That’s what I tried to tell myself, at any rate,” he said, his voice full of disgust, but disgust with himself, not with Stannis this time.

“What is your real reason?” Stannis asked.

“Because … because I remember a young woman who was deeply in love with a knight, but was forced to marry her brother instead. Because of all the times I, and the other members of the Kingsguard, pretended not to see, or hear, when her brother …  her husband … was mistreating her. We pretended not to see the bruises or hear the screams and cries.”

_Queen Rhaella and Ser Barristan?_

Barristan Selmy laughed, seeing the expression on Stannis’ face. “No, no, Lord Stannis. I am not that knight.” He paused, his expression solemn again. “The knight she loved and lost, who could have made her life less of a living hell. Will you read her letter?”

_Pretended not to see the bruises or hear the screams and cries_. Stannis remembered the king’s long and sharp fingernails digging into Queen Rhaella’s arm during the feast. He took the letter from Ser Barristan, before he knew he had truly decided to read it.

But read it he did. It was a very short letter, consisting of only one sentence.

_The last time I saw your father, Cousin Steffon said I could always call for his help if ever I have a need for it._

She had signed the letter simply ‘ _Rhaella_ ’. Not Queen Rhaella, or Rhaella Targaryen.

Stannis sighed. A thousand different thoughts and considerations passed through his mind.

“Do not trust anyone. Anyone at all. Not even my father. They all have their own schemes and plans.” His wife’s words to him before he left Storm’s End rang in his ears. He almost wished that Lyanna was here, with him, at this moment. He violently pushed that thought aside. _No! She is exactly where she should be._

“Lord Stannis?” Ser Barristan was staring at him. “Have you decided? Are you coming with me?”

_There is nothing wrong with merely listening to what she wants to say_ , he thought. “Take me to the queen, Ser Barristan.”

Barristan Selmy had led Stannis to this small sept. The dust and cobwebs indicated to Stannis that it had been deserted for quite a while.

“This used to be a well-known spot for travelers coming to King’s Landing. But ever since the construction of new routes for the Kingsroad, this sept has been almost entirely abandoned. A septon is no longer assigned here, in fact,” Ser Barristan had explained. “But we never know who could be watching, so we must still be wary, and careful.”

Stannis and the queen kneeled in front of the Mother for what seemed like an eternity to Stannis, before she finally started speaking. “There is no time for long explanations or preambles, my absence at the palace will be noticed soon. You must accept the appointment, Stannis. As Aerys’ Hand of the King.”

Stannis could not hide his shock and astonishment. He had not expected her to say this.

The queen glanced at him, studying his face. “You are surprised? Did you think I asked you here to take Rhaegar’s side, to fight for him against his father?”

Stannis’ face reddened. “The thought did occur to me, Your Grace.”

“Why?” The queen was asking. “Because a mother must always take her son’s side? Otherwise she is not a good mother?”

Stannis shook his head quickly. “No. Only … the king … your husband …”

She closed her eyes. “There is no need to say it. I know what my husband is, Stannis, better than anyone else.” Her hand was clutching his arm suddenly, insistent, desperate. “That is why you must take up the appointment. You are the only one who can stop this madness, this march to war against his own son. He will listen to you! He will!”

The queen’s desperation must have driven her quite mad herself. “Your Grace, I do not have the influence over the king that you think I do,” he said, as gently but firmly as he could. “He does not know me, has not seen me for years and years before the tourney, in fact. And he certainly does not trust me.” Not the way the king seemed to trust the Spider, certainly.

“He trusted your father,” the queen said. “He believed in your father’s absolute loyalty, in fact. After all, your father died performing a service for Aerys.”

“I am not my father, Your Grace,” Stannis said sadly.

“But you are your father’s son, and you reminded the king of Cousin Steffon very much. It grieves me to say this, but Aerys never liked your brother Robert. Never trusted him, in fact. With you, on the other hand, it is quite a different story.”

The queen’s hand was still on Stannis’ arm. “My son has been foolish. Very foolish and naïve. Convening a council to choose a new king? Does he really believe that those men who claim to support him would be content with putting Rhaegar on the throne and leaving Aerys alone once he is set aside? No, they would demand Aerys’ head, to secure Rhaegar’s throne. Viserys’ head too, and this child I’m carrying. They will kill us all and Rhaegar will be a mere puppet on the throne, powerless and under the command of those lords. Or they might even turn against Rhaegar in the end, killing him too, and putting one of them on the throne. It will be the end of House Targaryen. That must not happen! That cannot happen!”

“Why didn’t you tell your son this?”

“I didn’t know, you see! About Rhaegar’s plan. Not until it was too late. He did not seek my counsel. He … he fears for me, for what his father might do to me.” The queen smiled, a sad, sorrowful smile. “He is a sweet boy. My son, my firstborn.” The smiled faded quickly. “But he should have told me. I am not as weak and helpless as people think I am.”

Stannis did not want to say what he was about to say, but he knew it was something he had to point out to the queen. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but perhaps now that the king has arrested Prince Rhaegar, the plan has been foiled. The king will pardon his son at some point, and –“

The queen snatched her hand away from Stannis’ arm, and stared at Stannis, disappointment shining clearly from her eyes. She sighed deeply, and muttered something under her breath Stannis could not hear.

“Your Grace?”

“Forgive me, Stannis, I’ve forgotten how young you are, even younger than Rhaegar,” she said finally.

_What does my age have to do with anything?_

“Aerys will not forgive and forget so easily. And I fear what he might do to Rhaegar, as well as to the other two he arrested alongside Rhaegar.”

Stannis understood now, the queen thought him naïve too, perhaps more naïve than her son, for thinking that the danger had been averted. But he did not think that, not really, the situation was more precarious than ever, Stannis knew. And yet he also did not see how accepting the appointment as Hand of the King would change anything. There was nothing he, Stannis Baratheon, could do in this matter, despite what the queen was desperate enough to believe.

“Your Grace, I am only here to inquire about the fate of Jon Connington, my sworn bannerman. If he is suspected of a crime, then he deserves a fair trial,” Stannis said.

“You cannot help him as Stannis Baratheon, lord of the Stormlands. But as Stannis Baratheon, Hand of the King, you might have a chance,” the queen replied. “Aerys wants you as his Hand, the Spider argued strenuously against it, I heard them talking. That means something, doesn’t it? How can you let go of the opportunity to make things right? Isn’t it your duty to try and prevent war and bloodshed?” The queen was almost pleading now.

“Perhaps it is not _me_ the king wants, but merely to ensure the support of the lord of the Stormlands. He wants my bannermen, not Stannis Baratheon the man, or my counsel,” Stannis replied without hesitation.

“You will regret this, one day. When you finally realized that you had a chance to save us all and you refused to take it because of your fear and insecurity. I promise you, you will regret this.” The queen was no longer pleading now. She was angry. Livid, in fact.

Ser Barristan’s voice was whispering insistently. “There are people coming. Your Grace, we must leave. Now.”

The queen was having difficulty standing up, after kneeling down for so long. Stannis held out his hand to help her up. She refused to take it at first, but she finally did, holding on to his hand even after she was up. “Think carefully about what I said, Stannis. Very, very carefully. Before you make your decision. Remember this too – Aerys does not take too well to rejection.”

She was gone before Stannis could think of a reply.

 


	23. Lyanna XII

Renly’s story had ended with the she-wolf and the stag celebrating the birth of their child. A stag he-wolf, Renly had called the baby. As fierce as a wolf, but as swift as a stag. “Wolves are swift too,” Lyanna had said, pretending to be affronted.

“But wolves are fatter than stags, so they can’t run as fast,” Renly had replied solemnly.

Lyanna laughed. “Am I fatter than Stannis?”

“You are now,” Renly said, touching her belly. He laughed, and then whispered. “It’s only a jest, Lya. Are you angry?”

She kissed the top of his head. His hair smelled of the grass outside; Renly spent a lot of time daydreaming and staring at the sky. And making up stories about all the things he saw, Lyanna suspected. “No,” she assured him. “I am not angry.”

“When the baby comes, will you … will you still love me?” His voice was near tears suddenly. Lyanna was shocked. Where was this coming from?

“Of course I will,” she said firmly. “And I’m counting on you to help me with the baby,” Lyanna continued, smiling. “You are going to be an uncle.”

“Uncle Renly,” Renly said, his voice full of wonder. He started recounting all the things he would be teaching the baby, all the games they would be playing together, and the sound of his own voice finally carried him off to sleep. Lyanna adjusted the blanket covering Renly, and tried to fall asleep herself. But she was not as lucky as Renly.

Everyone was quite subdued at breakfast the next morning, even Renly, who was playing with his food instead of eating it, and who kept asking if Stannis had arrived in King’s Landing yet. Lord Estermont had finally left, riding off before dawn. Lyanna knew it was improper for her to be relieved at his leaving, but relief was what she felt. It was not only Lord Estermont’s whispered and hushed conversations with Lyanna’s father that bothered her, it was also the fact that Lord Estermont clearly favored Robert over Stannis. His conversations were often peppered with fond reminiscences of how things were when Robert was the lord of Storm’s End.  It was one thing for outsiders to do it, Lyanna thought, but a grandfather should not show his preference so visibly, so clearly. She felt aggrieved on her husband’s behalf.

Ned was the first to leave the table, to train with the men and knights. They were training every day now, instead of every other day; Stannis had left them with that instruction. Then Maester Cressen came to fetch Renly for his lesson, and Lyanna and her father were left alone at the table. She glanced at him a few times, but he was seemingly absorbed with the food.

“Have you heard anything from Stannis yet?” Her father was the one who broke the silence, to Lyanna’s chagrin. What happened to her resolve to confront her father? She steeled herself, she must not lose her courage, when so much was at stake.

“No, he would not have written from the road. He would have waited until he reached the city,” Lyanna replied.

“Is he planning to accept the appointment? As Hand of the King.”

Lyanna shook her head. “I’m not sure.”

Rickard Stark looked extremely skeptical, watching his daughter with raised eyebrows. “But surely he told you what his plans were. His own wife. When it comes to a matter of such importance as this, surely he shared his deliberation and decision with you.”

Lyanna deflected the question. “Did you always tell Mother everything?”

Her father closed his eyes. Lyanna regretted her question already. “Forgive me, Father. I -“ 

Her father waved away her apology. “Not always. And not everything, certainly,” he replied. “But I wish your mother is here right now. I could use her counsel right now,” he continued softly.

_Mother would have told you not to do anything that could endanger lives and risk a war_ , Lyanna wanted to tell her father. But was that really true? Lyanna was very young when he mother died, she had no idea what her mother really thought of anything.

She was a daughter, a sister, a wife. She was the Lady of Winterfell. And she was a woman and a person in her own right. But Lyanna knew nothing of those things.

_I knew her only as my mother. And even then, only for such a short time._

She missed her mother so acutely at that moment, felt the loss so deeply it took her breath away. Lyanna raged at the opportunity robbed from her; to know her mother not just as a mother, but as a woman, as a person with fears and insecurities, doubts and uncertainties.

_Mother, have you ever felt so anxious for someone, you woke up in the middle of the night screaming his name silently?_

“Lya?” Her father had not called her _Lya_ for a long time, not since he started talking about her betrothal and marriage. “You are Lady Lyanna of House Stark, and I will find a good match for you,” he had told her, on her fourteenth nameday. The unspoken message clearly was – _do not upset the plan by being your stubborn self_. _By being Lya the wild child._

The wild child who had delighted her father when she was younger, by always managing to keep up with her three brothers in everything. Riding, fighting, even cursing. But everything changed the day her moon-blood finally came. “You are a woman now, and you must act like a woman,” her father had said.

She had loved her childhood and the freedom that she had, and would not have traded it for anything. Yet at times Lyanna wondered if it was more cruel to allow her a glimpse of that freedom, and then to have it snatched away so suddenly, all because “you are a woman now.” Maybe if she had been raised like other girls, she would not have felt the loss of freedom so deeply or resented it so acutely.

But perhaps she would have resented her father all the more, for never allowing her that freedom, even as a child. She stared at her father across the table. He was carefully brushing off crumbs from his doublet. Lyanna smiled. Her father, so fastidious, so particular about everything. In some ways, just like her husband. The thought of Stannis wiped the smile off her face.

“What if Stannis accepts the appointment? To be King Aerys’ Hand.” Lyanna asked her father abruptly.

“I counseled him not to do that, before he left. I think it would be a mistake,” her father said cautiously.

“Why? Why would it be a mistake?”

“Heavens child, you know why. The king is mad, off his head. It is only a matter of time before he does something truly terrible. Not that he hasn’t already, but so far he’s somehow been … _wise_ enough to burn only the common folks,” Rickard Stark’s voice curdled with contempt saying the word ‘wise’. “Most of the highborn lords are keen to close their eyes – _well, it’s not one of us he’s burning_. But it will be, soon enough. It will be. Mark my word.”

“Did you tell Stannis this?”

“Yes, all that and more. But that husband of yours is a stubborn man. _Rumors_ , he said. Whispers and rumors, never been proven. I suppose he would not believe it until he sees Aerys burning someone with his own eyes.”

A horrifying thought struck her suddenly, something she cursed herself for not considering much sooner. _And what if Stannis refuses the appointment and the king … the king …_

Lyanna dared not finish the thought. Was it too late to write to Stannis now, to implore him to accept? How far was he from King’s Landing at the moment? How would a raven even find him before he reached the city?

But then what would happen if her father threw his support behind Rhaegar against the king? Her husband, at war with her father and her brothers? How was she supposed to live with that?

_I should have told him not to go. I should have begged him, pleaded with him. I should have coerced him not to leave his family, his pregnant wife, if begging and pleading do not work. Why should it matter if it will make him think a lot less of me? As long as he lives. As long as he does not come to harm._

But would it? Ensure that he lived? The king would have taken Stannis’ refusal to come to King’s Landing as a graver offense, Lyanna thought. As proof of treason, perhaps. Proof that Stannis was in league with Rhaegar.

How do you choose, when there are no good choices left? When all routes lead to danger and ruin?

 


	24. Stannis XII

_“Are you always so certain about where your duty lies, Stannis?”_ Rhaegar Targaryen had asked him that, once upon a time.

_“Will you be as loyal to me as your father was, Stannis? Can I count on you as much as I counted on him? As much as I once depended on him?”_ The king had asked Stannis that, before the crown prince had asked his question.

_“You will regret this, one day. When you finally realized that you had a chance to save us all and you refused to take it because of your fear and insecurity.”_ The queen had warned him, the last of the Targaryens to speak to Stannis.

_My fear and insecurity?_ _What did she mean by that?_

It was not fear and insecurity driving the decision he was making. No, the decision he was trying to make. And he had no illusion, none at all, that he was capable of saving anyone. He had lost that delusion the day he and Robert stood at the parapet of Storm’s End, waiting for a ship that never arrived, at least not intact. He was here for Jon Connington, his sworn bannerman, his responsibility. That was the beginning and end of it. As to the other matter …

_What would Robert have done?_ Stannis silently scoffed, pushing that thought aside. Robert was hardly the shining beacon whose example should be followed when trying to decide on a course of action. And yet, much as it pained him to admit it, Stannis knew that Robert would have been more decisive, would not have spent so much time considering and reconsidering the consequences in his mind. Stannis was almost at the Red Keep itself, and his mind was still not made up.

_So what? What’s the point of being decisive if it means making a foolish and dangerous decision?_ He replied to the berating voice in his head.

_What would Father have done?_ His father would have listened to the king’s angry rants, and saw the anguish and despair driving all the rage and resentment. _“Aerys is still like a boy in many ways. A boy who feels inadequate, living his life under the shadow of his illustrious grandfather, and now under his illustrious Hand.”_ Steffon Baratheon had let that slip in front of his sons at dinner one night, only to be met with his wife’s warning glare. _Not in front of the children_ , she was obviously warning him.

_“We are not that different, you and I. Always in the shadow. Always merely second-best. Second-rate. Never good enough in the eyes of others. Not as good as your brother Robert. Not as good as my grandfather, then my father, then my own Hand. And now my son.”_ The king had said that as well to Stannis, in a moment of confidences never sought but still received.

_Is that why he wants me to be his Hand? Because he thinks I understand what it is like? That we are kindred spirit?_

That was a singularly bad reason for choosing a Hand of the King, Stannis thought. He had no illusions about his own strengths and weaknesses, his own abilities and capabilities. He knew, even while Robert was still alive, that he would have done a better job being the Lord of Storm’s End. And he also knew that he was not the right person to be Hand of the King, not now. He had rarely set foot in King’s Landing, had no interest in dealing with all the scheming and plotting and backstabbing. And he was far too young and inexperienced for the job.

Tywin Lannister was not much older when he was made Hand of the King, Stannis recalled. But he was a different sort of man, Stannis also knew.

The throne room was filled with various lords, knights and common folks, all making their various appeals. The king was sitting on the throne, looking as if he would rather be anywhere else in the world. Incredibly, none of those present spoke of Prince Rhaegar, or his two companions who had been arrested alongside him. The business of the realm went on as usual, or so it seemed. _Are there forces assembling in other parts of the kingdom on Rhaegar’s behalf?_ Stannis suspected there were. This was merely the deceptive calm before the storm.

He fixed his gaze on the king, his thoughts swirling with all the contradictory stories he had heard, as well as the things he had observed and perceived himself about the king.

_If Rhaegar wishes to put himself on the throne, of course he would have to find some sort of justification_ , Stannis thought. _My father is mad, my father is cruel, my father -_

_But Rhaegar is the Crown Prince, he will be king one day after his father’s death, if he only sits quietly and wait. Why would he risk all that, unless there is a very good reason for it?_ Stannis was arguing with himself in his head.

_Aerys_ _is the rightful king,_ he pushed back. _Where would we be, if everyone thinks they know best, without regard for rules and laws. Wars and bloodshed and constant instability in the realm, that’s where._

The king finally noticed Stannis standing at the back of the room. “My new Hand of the King has arrived,” he said eagerly. “Come, Stannis, sit with the rest of the Small Council members.”

Stannis saw his grave mistake immediately. He should have waited to see the king privately. But he had wanted to observe the king in public, conducting his duties. Had wanted to see if … if …

_You wanted to see if the stories were true_ , a voice said accusingly in his head. Strangely, it did not sound like his own voice. It sounded so much like the king’s angry and hurt tone.

“Lord Stannis Baratheon, Hand of the King,” the steward was intoning. Faces after faces turned to stare at Stannis, some smiling, some with ill-concealed curiosity and suspicion. He was not known to most of these lords and knights, not the way Robert had been.

What was he to do? Taking that seat with the rest of the Small Council members would have indicated his acceptance. And yet, how could he defy his king?

Relief came from the most unexpected source. “Your Grace, perhaps Lord Stannis would like to rest after his long journey? You have much business to attend to today; this session could last all afternoon. You could speak with him in private after that,” Lord Varys said.

The king frowned at first, but then nodded vigorously. “Of course, of course. Tower of the Hand is prepared for you, Stannis.”

_Now why did the Spider do that?_ Stannis wondered. He suddenly recalled the queen’s words. _“Aerys wants you as his Hand, but the Spider argued strenuously against it.”_

_He does not like me, and I do not trust him._

Stannis did not make his way to Tower of the Hand; he did not think it his place to do so, despite what the king had said. He was walking along the corridor in the Red Keep, thinking of Princess Elia and her children and if they were imprisoned as well, when a voice called out to him. A boy’s voice. “Cousin Stannis,” the voice said.

_He does not have his brother’s charms or good looks_ , Stannis thought dispassionately, as he stared at the face of Prince Viserys. The second son.

“Prince Viserys,” Stannis greeted the boy.

The boy shook his head. “Cousin Viserys, please. You are my cousin, are you not?”

_Well, he does have something in common with his brother after all_ , Stannis thought. He was getting impatient with all the talk of cousin and blood ties between the Targaryens and Baratheons.

_Suddenly that blood tie is of the utmost importance, with war possibly approaching_ , Stannis thought cynically. It was never really mentioned before, as far as Stannis knew. King Aegon V had allowed his children to marry for love, as he himself had done, but that did not mean that the rest of the Targaryens thought too highly about Rhaelle Targaryen marrying a Baratheon.

“Yes, I am, my prince,” Stannis replied. “Your second cousin. My lord father was His Grace the king’s first cousin.”

Prince Viserys was accompanied by the youngest member of the Kingsguard, the son of Tywin Lannister. He stood quite a distance away, looking almost bored.

_Did you dream of glory and splendor in the field of battles, instead of following a young boy around_? Stannis scoffed silently at Jaime Lannister. But he sobered up quickly as he remembered that Jaime Lannister might have his chance in the field of battles after all, very soon. And so would countless others, including himself, whether they wished for it or not.

“Are you here to see my brother?” Viserys asked.

“No, I am here at the king’s command,” Stannis replied. _Surely the boy knew of his brother’s fate?_

His next sentence confirmed that the boy at least had some inkling. But how much he really knew, Stannis could not tell. “Father is very angry with Rhaegar. I’m not allowed to see him. No one is allowed to see him. Not even Elia and the children.”

So Princess Elia and her children had escaped Rhaegar’s fate, at least so far, Stannis thought. Maybe the thought of Dorne and its wrath was in the king’s consideration.

“Are you to be my father’s new Hand?” Viserys was asking Stannis.

Stannis hesitated.

“Do you know what happened to the old one?” Viserys whispered before Stannis could answer the previous question.

 


	25. Lyanna XIII

“What is the important message you needed Benjen to deliver to Brandon, Father?”

Lyanna’s father stared at her with astonishment. “Really, Lyanna, how is that any of your concern?”

Back to Lyanna again, not Lya. Her father was not pleased with her. She steeled herself. Too much was at stake for her to lose her nerves now. She remembered the words she had prepared, the arguments she had planned. “If Stannis is involved, then it _is_ my concern. He is my husband.”

Her father scoffed. “Involved? Do you think I’m plotting something with your husband behind your back?”

_Involved_ was the wrong word. _Affected_ was what she should have said. “If Stannis is affected –“

“We’re _all_ affected. The whole realm. Every man, woman and child, lords, knights and common folks alike. It is not only about your _dear_ and _beloved_ husband, Lyanna,” her father said, his tone scornful.

_The husband you were desperate for me to marry, Father. The one you made me wed._ She did not say this to her father; her courage only extended so far. And also because despite everything, she still loved him, and had no wish to hurt him.

“If it comes to war  …” Lyanna hesitated.

Her father glanced up sharply. “What has Stannis been telling you?”

“The truth,” Lyanna said. _He told me the truth._ _Unlike you, Father. My husband does not shield me, or anyone else, from the truth. That is not his way._

Her father laughed. “Don’t be so naïve, Lya. He only told you what he wanted you to know. _Not_ the whole truth.”

“He told me whatI wanted to know,” Lyanna replied, undeterred.

“And what is that?” To Lyanna’s surprise, her father looked genuinely curious. “Tell me, what do you want to know, my child?” Her surprise was compounded by his suddenly gentler tone and even more tender expression. With that voice and that look on his face, Rickard Stark had once sat on his daughter’s bed night after night after his wife’s death, waiting for Lyanna to stop crying and fall asleep.

She would have preferred him to continue being angry and scornful; that would have strengthened her resolve. Instead, her determination was flagging.

“ _Your father has chosen a side,”_ her husband’s voice echoed in Lyanna’s head. “ _And he has not chosen the king._ ”

“It is treason,”Lyanna whispered. “To conspire against the king.” She grasped her father’s hand tightly, her fear mounting. For her father. For her brothers. For her husband. For Renly, and for the child she was carrying. For herself.

And even, loath as she was to admit it, even for _him_. For the man she had steadfastly refused to think about at all since the talk of war began to rear its head. The man currently languishing in his own father’s prison.

Lyanna’s father put his other hand on top of hers, and they were connected like that, father and daughter, hand over hand over hand, for an all-too-brief moment. Her father was the one who broke the connection, sighing deeply and looking away. “It is not treason if you are working to put the rightful king on the throne,” he finally said, his voice almost a whisper too, as Lyanna’s had been earlier.

“King Aerys _is_ the rightful king,” Lyanna said. She knew she sounded so much like Stannis, but this time, it did not bother her.

“He has forfeited his claim by his own actions,” her father replied, his face impassive.

“And you are confident that Prince Rhaegar will be different than his father? That he will be a better king?”

“He will have no choice but to do so,” her father replied with confidence. “Certain promises were made, shall we say. And Rhaegar will not be permitted such a free rein as Aerys is accustomed to right now, to indulge in his cruelty and … and … _depravity,”_ he continued, disgusted.

“King Aerys will not back down so easily, not even for his own son. He has been suspicious of Prince Rhaegar for a long time, even before the tourney at Harrenhal,” Lyanna said.

“How do you know that?” Her father was looking at her suspiciously. “Who told you about Harrenhal?”

_Rhaegar_ _did, when we spoke under the stars._ With the garland of blue winter roses still circling her forehead. No, not under the stars, there were no stars that night. It was only the moon. Only the brightness of the moon deceiving them. _Trick of the moonlight_ , Rhaegar had said.

_Trick of the heart_ , Lyanna thought. _We deceived ourselves that we were in love._

“Lya? Who told you about Harrenhal and King Aerys’ suspicion?” Her father repeated his question, his tone sharper this time.

Another blunder, an even bigger one this time. She would have to watch her steps more carefully, if she wanted to have any hope of convincing her father of anything.

“ _Perhaps … if I tell him … if I tell him about Rhaegar and myself -”_ Lyanna had said to her husband.

“ _What good will that do?“_ Stannis had replied. “ _I am worried it might even drive him to a more drastic path._ ”

The Starks were kings once, her father had taught Lyanna and her brothers. King in the North.

 “Stannis,” Lyanna replied, not looking at her father. “Stannis was the one who told me.”

“Stannis was not present during the tourney at Harrenhal,” her father said, his eyes refusing to leave Lyanna’s face, scrutinizing, probing, testing.

“Rhaegar … Prince Rhaegar … he spoke with Stannis during his nameday feast. He was the one who told Stannis about Harrenhal, and about King Aerys’ suspicion,” Lyanna said quickly.

Her father looked skeptical. Lyanna waited for the inevitable barrage of further questioning. But as it turned out, her father asked only one question. “And Stannis told _you_ about it?” He asked, his tone extremely doubtful.

She had to work hard to hide her relief. Her father’s skepticism was not about the source of the information, but about Stannis telling Lyanna about it. Her relief was short-lived, however, as the full-impact of her father’s words finally hit her.

“I _am_ his wife after all,” Lyanna replied, feeling offended. “Is it so unbelievable that Stannis would tell me?”

Her father was the one not meeting her gaze this time. He stood up and walked slowly to the window. His back was towards her when he started speaking again. “It is a terrible thing to say, but I was … somewhat relieved when Robert died.”

Lyanna was astonished. Had her father not wanted her to marry Robert after all?

“It was an excellent match, of course, for both Houses. A vital and much-needed match, in fact. But there is a recklessness in Robert that reminds me so much of you, Lya,” her father said, finally turning around to face her. “I fear for you both, encouraging and compounding each other’s recklessness, with nothing and no one to temper it.”

_Then why did you agree to the betrothal in the first place, Father?_ She would have cried, if she had any tears left. _And what good does it do telling me now?_

Her father was not done upending her world, however. “Stannis … now Stannis, on the other hand, he is a safer pair of hands, or so I thought at the time. Cautious. Careful. Cold. He could temper your recklessness, cool the wild fire raging inside you.” He paused. “He could … keep you safe,” he continued softly.

Lyanna was outraged. “I don’t need –“

Her father interrupted. “But I’m beginning to think that I have been sorely mistaken. There is a profound core of obstinacy within Stannis, an icy coldness that can never be thawed, more dangerous than any fire in the world. In his own way, he is perhaps even more reckless than Robert ever was, or would have been.”

“You’re only saying that because Stannis refuses to do what you want him to do,” Lyanna pointed out.

“I only want him to do the right thing!” Her father exploded.

“The right thing according to you, Father,” Lyanna replied firmly.

“The right thing that will keep us _all_ safe. Baratheons and Starks both,” her father said softly.

“A war will not keep anyone safe,” Lyanna said.

“Nor will a crazy king on a rampage, left unchecked and unrestrained,” her father replied. “With Rhaegar as king, things will be different.”

_He will owe you and the other lords flocking to support him, you mean_. _You will tie his hands and pull his strings, and make him a king in name only._

And yet, wasn’t even that preferable to a mad king? Lyanna did not know the answer to that question. She wished fervently that her husband was by her side. Not so he could tell her the answer, but so they could argue, debate and ponder the problem together.

They had traveled a long way together, Stannis and Lyanna, in growing intimacy if not in time and distance. Together but apart, that was what they were in the beginning. “ _It’s not enough,”_ she had told him. “ _Not for me_.” He had tried. She had tried. They had both tried to close the distance between them, with some success, she thought.

_And yet how is it that we are now truly and completely apart?_


	26. Stannis XIII

"What _did_ happen to the old Hand?" But Prince Viserys was already walking away, and Stannis never had his answer. Jaime Lannister followed the young prince closely, still looking bored and disaffected.

_Where is Tywin Lannister in all this?_ Stannis suddenly wondered. On King Aerys’ side, or Prince Rhaegar?

On the side that would bring the most advantage to his House, Stannis suspected. Tywin Lannister would most probably stay on the sideline while the fighting raged; only deciding one way or the other once victory seemed secure for one side.

_How is that different from what you are doing?_ A voice whispered accusingly in his head. _You are waiting, and watching as well._

_I am not waiting to see who would emerge victorious_ , Stannis countered adamantly. The argument raging in his head was interrupted by the sight of a woman walking towards him. This was not someone he had ever met before, yet there was something very familiar about her. It was her eyes, Stannis finally realized. Her strange, peculiar violet eyes. Something Lyanna had told him about a woman Ned Stark had danced with at Harrenhal. Lady Ashara of House Dayne, one of Elia Martell’s ladies-in-waiting. And the sister of Ser Arthur Dayne, the Kingsguard currently imprisoned along with Rhaegar and Jon Connington.

Stannis was surprised that she still had the freedom of roaming about the castle; that she had not been sent back to her family home, or had her movement restricted at the very least. But a moment later, he noticed two palace guards keeping watch on Ashara Dayne. She might not be imprisoned like her brother, but she _was_ being watched. As they passed each other along the corridor, Lady Ashara’s fingers furtively grasped his hand, a gesture that shocked Stannis to the core.

_What is she doing? Is the woman mad?_ He tried to pull free, but her grasp was firm, and he did not wish to attract the attention of the guards keeping watch on Ashara Dayne. She was shoving something into his hand, he finally realized. A piece of paper. Her eyes were staring straight ahead, resolutely not looking at him, pretending not to notice him at all. Stannis folded the paper into his palm, and Ashara Dayne continued on her way, the two guards following her from a distance.

It was a letter from Elia Martell. “Letter” was too generous a word for it, Stannis scoffed. It was more a series of instructions. “ _Make your way here, turn there,”_ so on and so forth. Stannis had no wish to follow those directions at first; he did not think he had any business meeting secretly with Rhaegar’s wife. But then he recalled that Lyanna had asked him to keep watch to see if Princess Elia was being treated harshly. “She was kind to me at the feast, when she had every right not to be,” Lyanna had said. And the look of the two guards following Ashara Dayne did not reassure Stannis regarding the fate of Elia Martell.

He followed the directions and ended up at a garden, where he spotted Princess Elia watching a little girl playing with a cat. _That must be Princess Rhaenys_ , Stannis thought. She had her mother’s Dornish look. Elia Martell seemed to be deliberately ignoring his presence. Stannis glanced around and saw multiple pair of eyes watching. Now he understood the other instructions in the letter.

He cleared his throat. “Princess Elia, I seem to have lost my way.”

She finally turned to look at him, her expression for all intents and purposes looking genuinely startled. “Why, Lord Stannis. I didn’t know you are back in King’s Landing.”

“I have only just arrived,” Stannis replied.

 She smiled. “That is my daughter’s cat. Isn’t he a beauty?”

Stannis could not see what was so special with the cat. He remained silent and waited.

“Come, let me introduce you to my daughter,” Elia Martell said, beckoning him. The little girl was sitting down on the floor, talking quietly to the cat, her expression painfully solemn and serious. Elia sat down, smoothed over her daughter’s hair, and pointed to Stannis. “This is Lord Stannis, your father’s cousin.”

The girl glanced up to look at Stannis, and held out her hand to him. Stannis hesitated, uncertain what to do. Elia nodded, looking at him meaningfully. Stannis knelt, taking Princess Rhaenys’ hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Princess Rhaenys,” he said.

The girl smiled and turned her attention back to her cat, whispering to him, laughing from time to time as if they were sharing in some private jokes. Stannis was about to get up, but Elia’s hand grabbed his arm. It was a fleeting touch, but equally as firm and resolute as Ashara Dayne’s grasp had been earlier. And just like with Ashara Dayne, Stannis flinched at Elia Martell’s touch as well.

_Stay_ , she was saying with her eyes. She continued smoothing over her daughter’s hair, with both hands this time, but seemed to focus only on the region close to her ears.

_She wants to talk, and this is the only chance to do so without being overheard by the guards watching her, but she doesn’t want her daughter to hear us_ , Stannis finally understood.

“You shouldn’t have come to King’s Landing,” Elia said abruptly, her voice insistent.

“I am here to ensure justice for Jon Connington, my sworn bannerman,” Stannis said.

“It’s a trap,” Elia continued. “They want you in King’s Landing as a pawn, a hostage, so Lord Rickard and the northern lords will not rebel on Rhaegar’s behalf.”

 Stannis was incredulous; he could not see the connection at all. “What makes them think having me here will stay Lord Rickard’s plan?”

“You are his son-in-law, the husband of his only daughter. His daughter who is currently with child. He wouldn’t want his grandchild to be born without a father,” Elia replied.

On the other hand, Stannis thought cynically, maybe his father-in-law was counting on the child Lyanna was carrying being a boy, a ready-made lord of Storm’s End. _He has no need for me any longer if that is the case._

“But Lord Varys objected to my appointment as Hand,” Stannis said, recalling Queen Rhaella’s words to him.

“Yes, but it was Lord Varys’ idea in the first place to summon you to King’s Landing. Not to be Hand of the King, of course. That was the king’s sudden notion.”

“What happened to the old Hand?” Stannis asked, anxious to hear the answer.

Elia was shaking her head.  “No one knows. My father-in-law claims that he is a traitor, and he absconded once it is discovered that he is in league with Rhaegar. But Rhaegar would never have brought that old fool into his confidence.” Elia paused, lowered her head to kiss her daughter’s cheek. Her voice was softer when she finally continued; Stannis had to bring his head closer to hers to hear the words. “I know you have no fondness for my husband. We both know the reason why. But his life is in danger, and so are ours - myself and my children.”

“Prince Rhaegar did not wrong me, he wronged my late brother,” Stannis replied. “And he wronged _you_ , Princess Elia,” he pointed out.

“He is still my husband, and the father of my children. Our fates are bound up with his fortunes. That is the truth of it, whether I like it or not,” Elia replied, her voice unwavering. She closed her eyes. “I tell myself that I must not judge them too harshly. Lyanna is so young. I was naïve and full of illusions at that age too.”

“Rhaegar is not young and naïve,” Stannis said.

Elia smiled, a sad, melancholic smile. “Not in actual age, no. But he had lived most of his life with a cloud of illusions and inside a protective bubble. His mother shielded him from the worst of his father’s behavior while he was growing up, much like she’s trying to do with Viserys now. It was only as Rhaegar started to be more involved with the Small Council that he realized the extent of his father’s … problems.”

Stannis waited.

Elia continued. “And Rhaegar has always been surrounded by people who not only greatly admire him, but are vigorous in showing their admiration; men and women both. He has strength of character enough that it did not turn him into an egotistical monster, fortunately. But his view of the world is … shall we say … very idealized. The shock when he finally realized the extent of his father’s madness, and what he might have to do to save the realm - it was great indeed. He did not confide in me at the time, I blame him for that. Perhaps he was even tempted to run away, so he would not have to choose between what he saw as his conflicting duties. His duty to the realm, his duty to his father.”

Stannis frowned. Was that what Elia truly believed? That Lyanna was merely a temporary diversion, Rhaegar’s way of avoiding the hard choices he had to make?

Elia smiled, noticing his skeptical expression. “I know what you are thinking. That I’m merely deluding myself, wanting to believe that to feel better about the situation. Perhaps I _am_ deluding myself. But you see, it is a _choice_ I am making, a conscious one. I choose to believe that. It is a choice I _had_ to make, so I can live with myself. We women cannot afford to live in resentment of our husbands forever; our fates are tied up with them in a way that men’s fates aren’t to their wives. You can afford to continue suspecting and resenting Lyanna for what she had with Rhaegar. I don’t have the same luxury.”

“I tried to delude myself as well,” Stannis blurted out suddenly, to this woman he had no right to confide in. “It was not Rhaegar she loved, I told myself, it was what he represents. Freedom, choice, all the things she could never have.”

“Did you manage to convince yourself?”

Stannis shook his head. “No. Maybe because I had the luxury of not believing, as you said.” The conversation was veering into territory he was not comfortable with. He reminded himself of his reason for meeting Elia Martell. “Are you and your children … safe? Treated well?” Stannis asked.

 “Safe enough. For now,” Elia replied. “But you must leave King’s Landing at once, before the king knows that you have arrived.”

Too late for that, Stannis thought. But before he could tell her that, Elia had continued. “Whether you choose to stay on the sideline, or fight for Rhaegar’s side, or his father’s side, that is your choice. I would not presume to implore you to fight for my husband, Lord Stannis. But you must not let yourself be used as a pawn, to prevent the lords who have sworn their support to Rhaegar from coming to his rescue.”

“I have a duty to my king,” Stannis said.

“You don’t think the king will dare harm you? Why? Because you are the son of his cousin? Rhaegar is his own son, his own flesh and blood,” Elia replied.

“I have no such illusion. The king has no reason to favor me more than his own son. But that still does not negate my duty to be loyal to my king.”

“You would choose blind loyalty over sanity prevailing?”

“I choose peace over war and bloodshed. War is not inevitable, it can still be prevented. The course is not yet set.”

“If my father-in-law murders Rhaegar and his two companions, that will not stop war and bloodshed. The lords will definitely rebel then. _Look at the king, mad enough to kill his own son._ ” Elia was looking frustrated.  “It wasn’t supposed to come to this. There was supposed to be a grand council, and –“

Stannis interrupted. “So you knew, the whole time?”

“Not from the very beginning, but later, as the plan was developing, Rhaegar finally confided to me.” She laughed bitterly. “I suppose he did so out of guilt, more than anything else. _I almost ruined your life for another woman, and now I might do it again. But it is for the kingdom this time_ , that’s what he told me.” She stared at Stannis, conviction shining from her eyes. “Whatever his failings as a husband, Rhaegar is a good man still, in other ways. And he _will_ be a good king, better than his father. It was not an easy decision for him, you must know that. He struggled with it for a long time.”

“I need time to think,” Stannis said.

“There’s no time!” Elia insisted. “Any moment now –“

 “Lord Stannis,” a voice called out from behind them. Stannis turned around to see six fully armed and armored guards. “King Aerys summons you to attend to him in his bedchamber.”

Stannis nodded. “I know the way,” he replied brusquely.

One of the men smirked. “We are to escort you there, in case you lost your way again.”

Elia Martell was whispering to him. “Run,” she whispered. Was she mad? He had done nothing wrong, he would not run. Stannis stood up and started walking, the guards flanking him on all sides. They were not restraining him in any way, or even touching him, but Stannis had the uncomfortable sensation that he was being escorted the way a prisoner would be.

 A tiny hand tugged on his sleeve. Princess Rhaenys. “Will you tell Grandfather that Balerion misses Father?” She said, looking up to Stannis with an intense expression, too intense for such a small child.

“Who is Balerion?” Stannis asked.

“My cat,” the little girl said, pointing to the black cat now in her mother’s arms.

Stannis smiled. “Yes, I will tell him that.” He wondered however if he would even have the chance. 


	27. Lyanna XIV

“I have received a letter, my lady. From Lord Stannis.”

Lyanna stared at the anxious, worried face of Ser Lomas Estermont, the castellan of Storm’s End. And Stannis’ uncle on his mother’s side.

“Maester Cressen told me that there was a letter for you as well, from Lord Stannis,” Ser Lomas continued.

Lyanna nodded. “He wrote me about accepting the appointment as Hand of the King.” She tried to smile. “Stannis must have his reasons for doing so, after assessing the situation in King’s Landing, uncle.”

“Yes, of course,” Ser Lomas replied in a rush. “Lord Stannis would know best.” He hesitated, clearing his throat a few times, avoiding Lyanna’s gaze. “There is … another matter, my lady. Regarding your lord father.”

Lyanna knew what Ser Lomas was referring to. “Stannis wrote to me about that as well.” Lyanna tried to smile again, but failed miserably. “You should do as you must, of course. As my husband commanded.” She almost choked on the last sentence, loathing herself and her husband in equal measure.

Lomas Estermont looked even more uncomfortable. “Maester Cressen and I have discussed the matter. We both agreed that perhaps it would be better if you are the one to speak to Lord Stark first, my lady. Explain the situation to him, as his daughter, so Lord Stark would understand why his continuing presence at Storm’s End would be untenable at the moment.”

Lyanna said nothing.

“Lord Stark would not take too kindly to the message coming from a lowly knight such as myself, I am certain.”

“Stannis … he wrote that _you_ would …”

Ser Lomas interrupted. “Lord Stannis is a good man, my lady. But he is young, and not always aware of certain … complexities. His ways are perhaps too blunt at times.” He paused. “My lady, the last thing we need at the moment is to incur your lord father’s -  and House Stark’s - enmity. If you could speak to your father, as a daughter making a plea for the safety of your husband and his people … _your_ people as well, now that you are the lady of Storm’s End …”

  _And what of my father’s safety?_  But she saw the truth in Ser Lomas’ words as well. “I will speak to my father _,_ ” Lyanna said firmly. “But I am not certain how much my words can influence him,” she continued, more hesitantly.

“You are not just Lord Stark’s daughter, my lady. You are also the lady of Storm’s End, and in your husband’s absence, the one …”

“I know my duty, uncle,” Lyanna replied sharply.

But did she, truly? Knew her duty? Lyanna wondered, after Ser Lomas left.

_How do you choose? Between conflicting duties?_ Rhaegar had asked her once, when the night was dark, with no stars or even moonlight to guide them. She had no answer to give him then.

Rhaegar had made his choice after all, in the end. And he could no more help her now than she could help him make up his mind at the time.  

She was sixteen on her last nameday. _Too much_ , Lyanna thought. _This is too much too soon._ _I am not ready._

But then she thought of her husband, only a few years older, but with heavier burdens riding on his shoulders. Of Robert, even younger when his father died and he became lord of Storm’s End. Of Catelyn, her sister-in-law, who would not have hesitated for one moment to do her duty, Lyanna was certain.

Stannis should have married someone like Catelyn, Lyanna thought. They would have been more suited to one another, rather than Catelyn and Brandon. Or Stannis and Lyanna.

She read the letter from her husband again, for the tenth time that day. Those were words written by his own hands, she had no doubt of that. The words themselves, however, sounded as if they were written by a complete stranger. The news he was imparting to her were matters of great importance and with potentially dire consequences, yet he spoke of them as if he was telling her about the weather.

_That is his way. With everyone. Blunt and to the point. Why should I be surprised?_ She admonished herself.

_But I am his wife!_ Another part of her resisted. He had not written anything in the letter about himself, about how he was faring in King’s Landing.

_Are you well? Are you worried? Are you safe?_

He had not allayed any of her concerns regarding those matters.

“Be sensible, Lya,” Ned had told her. “Stannis would have to be careful about what he wrote, especially at a time like this. Other eyes could be watching.”

Of course Ned was right. She knew that. Knew it in her bones. And yet …

_I am stalling_ , Lyanna realized. Stalling from having that conversation with her father. No, it would not be a mere conversation. A confrontation, more likely.

“Lord Stark has been discussing certain … matters … with some of the stormlords, my lady,” Ser Lomas had also told Lyanna during their difficult conversation.

“What matters?”

Ser Lomas shifted his eyes and avoided Lyanna’ gaze. “Perhaps it is best if you ask him yourself, my lady. But it concerns something that should be under the purview of Lord Stannis as lord of Storm’s End, and _no one else_. If there is to be a war, Lord Stannis is the only one with the right to call the banners, as well as deciding which side the stormlands will fight for.” He turned to face her, finally, gazing at her meaningfully. “Of course, this was all happening before Lord Stark was aware that Lord Stannis had taken up the appointment as King Aerys’ Hand. Perhaps Lord Stark was mistaken at the time as to where Lord Stannis’ allegiance might lie.”

Was her father influencing the stormlords to fight for Rhaegar Targaryen? Lyanna recalled the hushed conversations between her father and Stannis’ grandfather.

“Are you speaking of your own lord father, uncle? Lord Estermont?”

To his credit, Ser Lomas did not flinch. He nodded. “My lord father … and many others, my lady. Lord Stark has been in touch with quite a few of the stormlords.”

How had she missed that? She had been negligent, a foolish child worrying of foolish matters while danger was brewing under her own roof.

“Then perhaps you should be having a conversation with your father as well, uncle. To remind him of his duty as a sworn bannerman to House Baratheon. I will speak to my own father, and tell him to end it,” Lyanna said forcefully, with a confidence she did not really feel.

Her father was in the solar, sitting on the chair Stannis used to sit on when he was home. Renly was sitting on the floor, his eyes gazing up full of amazement at Rickard Stark, listening to his story about the children of the forest and the old kings of the North.

“It is time for your lesson, Renly,” Lyanna said.

“Just one more story. Please, Lya? Can I listen to one more story?” Renly pleaded, looking back and forth between Rickard and Lyanna.

“Well, I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with one more story,” Rickard Stark said, giving the child a bright smile.

No, Renly,” Lyanna snapped. “You are late for your lesson already. Maester Cressen is waiting for you in your room.”

Tears were threatening to stream down Renly’s cheeks. “You’re just like Stannis,” he whined. “You’re always angry and snapping at everyone these days.”

Rickard Stark gathered the boy in his arms and comforted him. “She did not mean to yell at you, Renly. Lya is worried  about Stannis. You understand that, don’t you? Now, will you be a good boy and do what she asked you to do?”

Renly nodded swiftly. He went to Lyanna and embraced her tightly. “I’m sorry, Lya,” he whispered. “I will go to my lesson now.” She kissed the top of his head softly, and Renly ran out of the room.

When Renly’s footsteps were finally inaudible, Lyanna turned to her father and said, “I wish you would not attempt to explain my actions to Renly, Father. I will do that myself.”

Her father looked surprised, and almost hurt. “I was only trying to help you.”

_I do not need your help_. She resisted from saying that to her father. “You indulge Renly far too much, Father. He has to spend time learning and reading as well, not just playing and listening to stories.”

Her father scoffed. “Is this _you_ speaking, or your husband?”

Lyanna ignored the jibe. “You would never have been this indulgent with your own children. You would have known that children need -”

“Perhaps I _was_ too indulgent. With you, Lyanna. How else to explain why my own daughter could address her father so disrespectfully?”

 Lyanna flushed. “I do not mean any disrespect, Father. But Stannis left Renly in my care. I am responsible for him.”

“Then _take_ responsibility!” Rickard Stark raised his voice. “Instead of stumbling around as if in the dark, afraid of your own shadow. I thought you were made of sterner stuff than this, Lyanna. You are a Stark of Winterfell! Or have you forgotten that?”

They hurt, her father’s words. Pierced through her like a sword slicing her from ear-to-ear. But she knew the truth of those words as well. She _had_ been a coward, afraid of everything. Afraid of every choice, ever decision, every action. It was as if the day she relinquished her love for Rhaegar, she had decided to relinquish herself as well.

No more. She was a Stark of Winterfell, yes, but she was also the lady of Storm’s End.

_This is me taking responsibility, Father. Forgive me_ , she prayed silently.

“You have to leave, Father. You have to go back to Winterfell, as soon as possible. I will not have you plotting and scheming with the stormlords under my husband’s roof while he’s away,” Lyanna said, looking her father right in the eyes, her gaze never faltering.

Her father gazed at her thoughtfully, his expression indecipherable. “I would hardly call it plotting and scheming,” he finally said.

“Those stormlords have all sworn loyalty to Stannis. He is the only one who has the right to call their banners,” Lyanna replied.

“How safe do you think Stannis is in King’s Landing, Lya? Have you thought of that?”

Lyanna paled. “What do you mean, Father? What have you heard?”

Her father sighed, stared at her growing belly, and looked away. “Nothing. I have not heard anything.”

“Father, if you know something –“

“I was planning on leaving, perhaps in a week or so. But I will hasten my departure, if that is what you want.”

“Father –“

“Ned will stay, of course. He promised Stannis that he would be here, in Stannis’ absence. And Ned would not want to leave you, in any case. I will leave some of my men as well.”

Lyanna shook her head. “There is no need for that. You –“

Her father looked offended. “Why? Are you worried I am leaving my men here to spy on you and Stannis?”

Lyanna was mortified. “No, Father, of course not. But it is such a long journey to Winterfell, you will need all of your men to keep you safe, especially now.”

“I am not going to Winterfell.”

Her heart sank. “Surely you are not thinking … King’s Landing? Father –“

“I am not a reckless fool, child,” her father reassured her. “It is not the right time. Yet. Things are still … in motion. There is someplace else I have to be.”

Lyanna was not reassured at all.

 


	28. Stannis XIV

 

_“The King dreams and the Hand builds_. But what if the king’s dreams were full of death and destruction, treason and betrayal, the screams of his enemies and the smell of their burning flesh? What should the Hand build then? A funeral pyre for the king’s enemies? Or one for the king?”

“Are you asking me to commit treason and murder your father?”

“I am asking you to consider where your duty truly lies. Like I was forced to do.”

“You should have made your move at once, the moment you decided who had the strongest claim to your duty.”

_Instead of delaying, hesitating, prevaricating_ , Stannis thought. _Instead of wasting your time seducing the woman betrothed to your cousin._

There was no need for Stannis to say those words out loud; Rhaegar could read it clearly on his face.

“I was not always wise, I admit. Or strong. Lyanna gave me strength, when I was at my weakest and desperate.  She –“

“Your wife sends her regards,” Stannis interrupted. “She fears for your safety, and wonders if you are being ill-treated in prison. You _do_ remember her, don’t you? Princess Elia of Dorne?” He asked pointedly. “That is the only reason I am here, to check on your condition so I can put her mind at ease.”

_Not to listen to you waxing poetry about another woman._

A woman who also happened to be Stannis’ lawfully-wedded wife.

Rhaegar took the verbal blow unflinchingly. He did not lower his eyes or turn his gaze away from Stannis. “For the sake of your lord father, who had been a true friend to my poor father, and who was perhaps the only man who could have prevented matters from coming to this terrible state were he still alive, will you hear me out, Stannis?”

“I am not my father,” Stannis said.

“No, you are not,” Rhaegar replied mournfully.

“I doubt my father would approve of your conduct, of all your plotting and scheming,” Stannis scorned.

“Maybe not. But Lord Steffon Baratheon would never refuse to hear a man out. Not even a man who may have done him a personal slight in the past.”

“You wronged your own wife and my late brother with your conduct with Lyanna, not me,” Stannis replied, the sound of his teeth grinding echoing loudly in the cold dungeon.

 “Your disapproval and contempt for me is not personal, is that what you are saying?” Rhaegar asked.

“It is _my_ contempt, how can it not be personal?” Stannis replied, incredulous at the question.

To Stannis’ astonishment, Rhaegar started laughing. “Robert was wrong, you are not a humorless bo-“ Rhaegar halted suddenly, shifting his gaze away from Stannis.

“Humorless bore? Say it. Robert did, plenty of times.”

Rhaegar sighed. “Your late brother was a man of many talents, but he was not a very discerning judge of men. Or women, for that matter.”

“Don’t you dare!” Stannis exploded. “Don’t you dare use Robert’s indiscretions with other women as a reason to justify your shameful conduct with the woman he had been formally betrothed to. You, a married man who was untrue to his wife. At least Robert was not yet married.”

“I was not untrue to Elia, in the truest sense of the word. You should know better than anyone. Your wedding night with Lyanna, there must have been … ” Rhaegar could not bring himself to say the word ‘ _blood_ ’.

“There are other ways to be untrue, other ways to betray your marriage vows,” Stannis replied. Lyanna had taught him that. _The betrayal was only in our hearts, in our intentions. Intentions that never came to pass as actions_ , she had said.

Only because she was the one who had decided against it.

“If Lyanna had not refused you, you would have taken her with you and abandon your wife, your children, your duty to your people. How can I have faith in anything you say or claim to believe about duty now? A man who was willing to abandon everything for a sixteen-year-old girl, who would have done so if that girl had not been the one with the good sense to say no,” Stannis continued.

Rhaegar closed his eyes, his hands tightening their grasp on the iron bar of the cell. He let out another long sigh before opening his eyes. “That is a fair question. The only answer I can give you is this – whatever else you may think of me, Stannis, you can be sure that I am a man who has struggled long and hard with the notion of doing my duty. I have travelled a long distance since that day at Harrenhal. I am not likely to take my duty lightly again, after that close call. You can be sure of that.”

“I saw the way you were looking at Lyanna during the feast for your nameday celebration,” Stannis said, challenging Rhaegar’s reassurance. “That was a long way away from Harrenhal, yet it seemed as if you were still there, still wishing that _you_ had won the tourney and could crown Lyanna Stark queen of love and beauty.”

Never mind that Lyanna Stark was now Lyanna Baratheon, married and no longer just betrothed.

To his credit, Rhaegar did not flinch or look away. He met Stannis’ accusing gaze directly. “Have you never wondered about what might have been, Stannis? What could have been, if only the world is not the way it is. If only we are not who we are, and they are not who they are. Surely you have done that at some point in your life?”

Stannis had wondered what life would be like, if the king had not sent Steffon Baratheon and his lady wife across the Narrow Sea to find a wife for Rhaegar.

“No!” Stannis replied sharply. “It is pointless to wonder about the things that will never be.”

“There is no sin in simply wondering. As long as we do not act on it,” Rhaegar said softly.

He had to leave this dungeon quickly. Had to leave before he could no longer resist the impulse to wipe that dreamy, wistful look off Rhaegar Targaryen’s face once and for all. Robert must have felt the same impulse when Rhaegar rode his horse past his own wife at Harrenhal to present Lyanna with the garland of blue winter roses. How had he managed to restrain himself that time, Robert who never learned self-control in his life?

Stannis turned his back to Rhaegar and started walking away. Rhaegar called out his name a few times, but Stannis ignored him.

“I need to know that Arthur and Jon are fine,” Rhaegar shouted. That got Stannis’ attention. He turned around to look at Rhaegar, but did not move closer to him.

“The guards refuse to tell me anything about Arthur and Jon. Where they are being held, whether any harm has come to them. They are guilty of nothing more than being my loyal and trusted friends. Will you see to it that they are safe, Stannis?” Rhaegar pleaded. “Whatever wrong I may have done to you, Arthur and Jon should not pay for my sins.”

As if he was the type of man who would unjustly punish a man for someone else’s sins, Stannis fumed.

“I have seen Jon Connington,” Stannis said stiffly. “He is my sworn bannermen, it is my duty to ensure that he is not being unjustly punished. Jon Connington is being held in a cell not much different than your own. I have not seen any obvious signs that he is being ill-treated, no signs of beating or starvation.”

Rhaegar looked relieved, but only for a moment. “What about Arthur?” He asked anxiously.

“His Grace the king has refused my request to see Ser Arthur Dayne. Ser Arthur is a member of the Kingsguard, he said, and thus not any of my concern as Lord of Storm’s End,” Stannis replied.

“But you are not just lord of the Stormlands, you are Hand of the King now,” Rhaegar protested. “Surely you have _some_ sway over my father.”

Not as much as a Hand should, Stannis thought. Lord Varys still reigned supreme in King’s Landing. His words were the ones the king listened to, enraptured. Stannis was for all intents and purposes, a Hand in name only. And the king had refused his request to go back to Storm’s End, even for a short visit.

He recalled Elia Martell’s warning with unease.

“It’s a trap. They want you in King’s Landing as a pawn, a hostage, so Lord Rickard and the northern lords will not rebel on Rhaegar’s behalf,” Princess Elia had told Stannis, the day he arrived at King’s Landing.

Later, when news arrived that Rickard Stark and his men had been captured on the charge of treason and plotting a rebellion, Stannis’ first thought had been – _so Princess Elia was wrong after all_. _My being in King’s Landing did not stay Lord Rickard’s plan from moving forward._

Much later, when he found out that Rickard Stark had been captured by the king’s men not far outside the gates of Storm’s End, he was overtaken by despair. He had written to Lyanna telling her that her father could not stay at Storm’s End while he was plotting against the king. Lyanna must have told her father to leave, only to have him captured by the king’s men just outside the gates.

_You planned this, you and your king. You used me to get to my father_ , she must be thinking.

He would have suspected the same thing, in her place.

 


	29. Lyanna XV

Her father spent hours cloistered in his room with Ned before he finally left Storm’s End. “Jon Arryn” and “Hoster Tully”, Lyanna caught those names between snatches of overheard conversations between Lord Rickard and Ned. Was that where her father and his men were headed? To the Eyrie or Riverrun? Ned was tight-lipped when Lyanna questioned him.

“I made a promise to Father, Lya,” he told her, sounding sad and regretful.

“I will not betray my own father!” Lyanna replied, offended by the implication of Ned’s words.

“Perhaps it is better that you do not know. For your own sake,” Ned said, with a strict finality in his voice that told Lyanna that pressing him further would be futile. Ned can be very stubborn and obstinate in his own way.

“You must look after yourself and the baby,” her father told her before he left. “A boy or a girl, it matters not to me. It will still be my first grandchild,” Rickard Stark said, his hand stroking Lyanna’s belly. “But of course, your husband would be more pleased with a male heir.”

Would he? She had forgotten what would please Stannis, if she had ever known it in the first place. His letters to her from King’s Landing were vague and confided nothing. _He is wary of spies_ , she told herself. Lord Varys must have spies running all over the city, intercepting letters and messages. Accordingly, Lyanna made sure her letters to Stannis were vague as well. She told him about Renly’s progress in his lessons, about the cook she had to dismiss after being found stealing from the pantry, about the flowers blooming in the garden, but made no mention of her father, or even of Ned.

_If we had known each other better, we could have written what we really wanted to write to each other in a way that only we could understand_ , she thought. Alas, she and Stannis did not have that. There was no secret language or special signs at their disposal. But she wondered if perhaps not saying something was in truth saying it out loud.

She spent the day after her father’s departure in a hazy cloud. Ned had taken Renly riding in the woods to pacify him. Renly had become very attached to Lord Rickard, who was always willing to indulge him in his play-acting and games. Renly was the one who cried the loudest when Rickard Stark and his horse were finally out of sight. Lyanna wanted to cry too, but she knew she could not, not in front of the people she was supposed to lead in her husband’s absence, in her position as the lady of Storm’s End.

The steward sent up the household accounts for Lyanna to examine, which took up most of her morning. She spent part of the afternoon adjudicating a dispute between the new cook and the rest of the kitchen staff, and the other part sitting with Maester Cressen while the smallfolks aired out their troubles and grievances. It was a relief to have so much to do, in a way, for it left her with no time to think. About her father. About her husband.

About herself.

But now she was alone in the solar while Renly was having his lessons and Ned was training with the men with swords and lances in the courtyard. She had wielded a sword once, a lifetime ago. She wondered how those men loyal to her husband would react if she were to come down and join them in their daily training.

Never mind how Stannis himself would react. Not favorably, she suspected.

“You are with child. How could you even consider –“ she imagined Stannis’ disapproval frown.

“Not now, of course. Not at this moment. But later, after our baby is born,” she would tell him.

Would she? Or would she keep silent instead, for the sake of peace?

“My lady?” Maester Cressen’s voice was a welcomed interruption. “I thought you might like some company,” Cressen continued, looking at her kindly.

She must have not been very successful in hiding her turbulent emotions, if Cressen was worried about her. The maester was only trying to be helpful, Lyanna reminded herself. She smiled and said, “Thank you, maester.”

Cressen took a seat next to her. They sat together in silence for a while, watching the men with their swords and lances in the courtyard. “Your brother is a very proficient sword-fighter,” Cressen broke the silence.

“He is,” Lyanna agreed. “Brandon is better with a lance, and Benjen can ride a horse faster than most men, but sword has always been Ned’s specialty.”

Cressen regarded her thoughtfully. “And what about you, my lady? Which one is your specialty?”

The question startled Lyanna. She stared at the maester questioningly. “I’m not sure … I don’t know what you mean, Maester.”

Cressen cleared his throat. “Forgive me if that was an impertinent question, my lady. But Lord Robert did mention something about your … talents with horses and swords.”

Robert? Robert had seen her in her element at Winterfell, riding alongside her brothers, true, but Lyanna had no indication that Robert had ever known about her sword-fighting. Only her brothers knew, and they were sworn to secrecy, least Rickard Stark might be displeased with his sons indulging their sister in activities that should be reserved for men.

“What exactly did Robert say about my horse-riding and sword-fighting?” Lyanna asked Cressen.

“Only that you are not like any woman he had come across before,” Cressen replied. “ _A wild northern girl_ , Robert said, _bold and fearless.”_

Did Robert see her as a challenge? Someone he could tame and subdue, like breaking in a horse? Or was she being unfair? Lyanna did not know the answer to that. And it hardly mattered to anyone now, what Robert thought.

“You taught me to be fearless,” Rhaegar had told her under the starless night at Harrenhal. “When you donned that armor and fought off those knights bigger and stronger than you are to right an injustice, you taught me to set aside my fear, and how to be free.” Knight of the Laughing Tree, they had called the mystery knight. Knight of the Free, Rhaegar had called her.

But Rhaegar was not free and neither was she. And running away would not have made them any freer, Lyanna realized the moment she saw the look on Elia Martell’s face, as she watched her husband holding the hands of another woman.

_But perhaps if I had gone with Rhaegar then, there would not be the threat of war now. With Rhaegar gone, there would be no gathering of lords supporting Rhaegar over his father. No rebellion brewing._

Her father would be safe. Her brothers. Stannis.

Could a single act really have that strong a consequence?

Maester Cressen was watching her carefully. “Is something troubling you, my lady?” He asked.

_My father. My husband. My life. The choices I made. The choices I didn’t make. Everything._

“I hope Renly is not too upset about my father leaving,” she said to Cressen instead.

“Lord Rickard has been very generous and kind to Renly,” Cressen replied. “Renly never knew his own father. I fear that because of that, he gets too attached at times, my lady.”

Lyanna nodded. “It is to be expected.” She paused, before asking. “What was Lord Steffon like? Stannis speaks very little of him with me.”

“He was a man like other men, with both strengths and flaws. Not always the wisest of lord, though he was miles better than most, in my humble estimation,” Cressen replied. “But Lord Steffon loved his wife and sons dearly.”

“It must have been a great blow to Robert, Stannis and Renly, losing both parents at the same time.”

“Renly was too young to know anything at the time. Lord Robert and Lord Stannis, yes, it was a great blow to them. But you must understand the feeling yourself, my lady, having lost your own lady mother as a young child.”

Lyanna closed her eyes. Her mother’s face was an indistinct blur to her now, to her great regret. _Forgive me, Mother. I promised to remember you forever, but I can barely recall your face now._

“I still have my father,” Lyanna replied softly.

At dinner that night, Lyanna and Ned regaled Renly with stories of Rickard Stark trying to entertain his children at Winterfell, to Renly’s great delight. “More,” Renly kept saying. “Tell me more.” In truth, Ned knew much less than Lyanna, having left Winterfell at eight to be fostered at the Eyrie. His eyes opened up in amazement listening to some of the stories Lyanna told; they were news to him as they were to Renly.

She had been the one to stay home, to stay at Winterfell with her father while her brothers were sent away to be fostered. But then she was married off and sent away while her brothers came home with their brides. It was a circle of sort, Lyanna thought, but a strange one to her way of thinking.

Before she could continue this train of thought, Maester Cressen burst in holding a letter. “My lady, your lord father and his company –“

“What about my father?” Lyanna interrupted.

“They were ambushed by the king’s men and captured not far outside the gates of Storm’s End.”

This was her nightmare coming to life. “Where is my father now?” Ned was asking Cressen.

“On his way to King’s Landing, to be tried for treason and fomenting a rebellion,” Cressen replied.

Something the maester said caught Lyanna’s attention. “Where did you say my father was captured?” She asked.

“A few miles outside the gates of Storm’s End, my lady.”

“Were the king’s men waiting to ambush my father’s company?” Lyanna persisted with her questions.

Cressen hesitated, as if he knew where her questions were leading. “I … I’m not certain my lady.”

“But you said they were ambushed! If they were ambushed, then that must mean the king’s men were waiting for them.”

“My lady –“

“What does it matter, Lya? The important thing is to find out what will happen to Father. I must write to Brandon,” Ned said.

It mattered. It mattered a great deal if the king’s men were waiting for her father. Someone must have told them to wait. Someone must have told them that Rickard Stark would be leaving Storm’s End that day. Someone who told Lyanna to get her father to leave in the first place.

Ned was staring at her quizzically. No, Ned must not know of her suspicion. It was only a suspicion at this point. What if she was wrong and her brothers reacted based on her flawed suspicion? It was too great a risk to take. She would have to keep her suspicion to herself. She would have to find out on her own if her suspicion was warranted.

“You’re right, you must write to Brandon right away,” she told Ned, turning her face away. Ned left the dining room hastily. Cressen approached Lyanna as she started to leave the room, whispering desperately, “My lady, Lord Stannis would not … he … he … would never …”

Lyanna was deaf to the maester’s entreaties. She rushed to her room, locked the door and proceeded to re-read every letter Stannis had sent her since he left for King’s Landing, desperately seeking a clue, any clue. There was none to be found. Furious and exhausted beyond measure, she wrote a painfully short letter to her husband.

“Tell me this is not your doing,” she wrote, as she tried unsuccessfully to stem the tears from running down her cheeks. _Please_ , she added silently, but did not write on the letter to Stannis, along with other unspoken words. _Tell me you did not betray my father. Tell me you did not betray us, you and me, and whatever fragile bond we have worked so hard to create together._


	30. Stannis XV

Lyanna’s letter to Stannis arrived in King’s Landing before Rickard Stark himself did, carried to Kings’ Landing by a raven traveling much faster than guards holding prisoners.

“Tell me this is not your doing,” she had written, just the single sentence on the parchment, the edges of the words smeared and blurred with wetness that Stannis very much suspected, and feared, was caused by her tears. He tried to recall if he had ever seen her crying in their not-yet years of marriage _,_ in their still _fledgling_ union _,_ and decided that he had not. Her tears, i _f she shed them, she kept to herself._

And now he had touched her tears on the page, and still had never seen his wi _fe_ weeping

He prayed to the gods he had long ceased to believe that her tears were angry tears, proof of her wrath towards the husband she was doubting, and that they were not tears of despair and grief.

There had been no mystery as to what the ‘ _this_ ’ she had re _ferred to in the letter_ was. The news of her father’s arrest must have reached Lyanna. And her brothers.

Ned Stark had written his own letter to Stannis, entreating Stannis to champion Lord Rickard’s cause to the king. “My father would never have been a party to such treason,” Ned had written. “House Stark has been steadfast and constant in our loyalty to the Iron Throne ever since the last Winter King bended the knee to the first Aegon Targaryen.”

_There is a lot you do not know about your lord father, Ned._

And Rickard Stark most probably did not see it as treason; he was plotting to replace one Targaryen with another, not seeking the throne for himself or for any other lord.

Yet Ned’s letter was free of any rebuke or even suspicion about Stannis’ possible complicity in Rickard Stark’s fate. Whatever it was Lyanna suspected, or dreaded, she must have kept her suspicion and dread to herself, not sharing them with her brother.

Brandon Stark probably knew much, much more than his younger brother. Stannis recalled the tension between Rickard Stark and his eldest son at the tourney celebrating Rhaegar Targaryen’s nameday.

That tourney, and the feast afterwards, seemed like a hundred years in the past to Stannis. It was the beginning of the end, that was how he saw it now, the spark that rekindled the fire. They should have stayed at Storm’s End and not gone to that tourney, he and Lyanna. He should have heeded Lyanna’s initial reluctance and made some excuse to decline the king’s invitation.

_But it was not an invitation. It was a summon, a command from an already suspicious and paranoid king._

Had the king suspected Rickard Stark, even then? Lord Rickard’s son-in-law and daughter refusing the king’s command would have only made matters worse for the Starks.

Lyanna’s dream haunted him. “I dreamt of you. And the king. Riding into a great storm,” she had told him, what felt like a lifetime ago.

Her father was not in that dream. Surely she would have taken some comfort in that?

Or perhaps she was haunted by the nightmare of Stannis and his king riding into the storm to slay her father.

She would never forgive him, or indeed any man she believed had betrayed her father. Not even the father of the child she was carrying, Stannis was certain of that.

“This is not my doing. I did nothing,” he wanted to write to her. But in truth that seemed like his greatest sin; that he was here in King’s Landing, by the king’s side, holding court and dispensing justice as the king’s Hand when Aerys was indisposed – a very common occurrence lately – and yet he had known nothing of the king’s plan to arrest Rickard Stark, had been in ignorance of the schemes and the plans the king was hatching with Lord Varys, had in fact, done nothing, nothing at all.

 _This is my doing a_ _fter all. I did nothing. I was blind when I should have been more aware, dea_ _f when I should have been more conscious._

 _And what_ _could_ _he say when Rickard Stark_ was finally in the throne room, waiting for the king’s judgment? His father-in-law had all but admitted to Stannis his support for the crown prince over the king.

 _Lie_. _Lie for my father’s sake, so our unborn child would not be fathered by the man who caused the death of its grandfather and destroyed the life of its mother. Lie for your wife’s sake._

It was Lyanna’s voice he was hearing in his head.

_It would not be a lie. Talking is not a crime. Rickard Stark has done nothing as yet._

_Hasn’t he? Gathering an army against the king is treason of the highest order. When would you consider it a crime? When they have finally_ _murdered the king in his own throne room?_

 _Rhaegar Targaryen would not consent to his own_ _father being treated in that manner. Whatever else he is, he is not a kinslayer._

 _Rhaegar is imprisoned in his_ _father’s dungeon_. _He is no longer in control of this rebellion, if he ever was in the first place._

_I have a duty to my king. I have sworn an oath._

_What about your other duties? Choose, Stannis. For once in your li_ _fe, pick a side and stick to it, competing duties notwithstanding. If this was your blood leading the rebellion, would you have hesitated? Robert, say, or your lord father. You would choose them over the king as sure as night comes after day._

_Rickard Stark is not blood. And even with my own flesh and blood, the decision would not have come easy._

_Rickard Stark is blood to Lyanna, blood to the child she is carrying. Your child. If Lord Stark is attainted, what do you suppose will happen to his children? To his grandchildren? What about your duty to protect your _family? Your wife and child?__

It was not with his absent wife he was arguing, but with himself.

 _I dreamt that we grew old together. And you were sad and unhappy. And full of regrets._ He had finally told Lyanna this on his last night at Storm’s End. On their last night together, for who knows how long. She had assumed that he was thinking of Rhaegar when he thought of her regrets, had insisted that Rhaegar was like a closed book to her, the words fading more and more with the passing of each day, the memory of it no more than a faint remembrance.

But he had not been thinking of Rhaegar at all. Only of the life they would have made together, he and Lyanna. It was still possible to have regrets about the life you had led, without actually lamenting the path you had not taken in its stead.

In the end, his reply to Lyanna’s one-sentence letter consisted only of his hope that she was looking after her health, and the health of their unborn child. Anything else seemed too fraught with hidden meanings, too full of promises he was not at all certain he could keep.

 _I did nothing. I stood by and watched._ The thought made him shudder. 


	31. Lyanna XVI

**Lyanna XVI**

Saying goodbye to Renly was the hardest part. The boy cried, begged and pleaded, and finally threw a huge tantrum when Lyanna told him that she must leave for King’s Landing on the morrow, and no, it was impossible for him to go with her.

“Why do you have to leave me too, Lya?”

Lyanna took Renly into her arms. “The king has commanded me to come, to be a witness in a trial. I cannot refuse, Renly. I have to go.”

Her father had not requested her to appear as a witness for his defense. Neither had Rhaegar. It was the crown calling her as a witness in the joint trial of Rickard Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen.

Witness for the prosecution. What could King Aerys possibly think Lyanna knew about the matter?

_I know nothing!_

That, was not _precisely_ the truth.

_I will lie._

Of course she would lie. To save her father. To save -

“Then let me come with you,” Renly was pleading, his hands tightly holding Lyanna’s dress, tears streaming down his face.

“Stannis would not wish that. You must stay here at Storm’s End,” Lyanna replied, wiping off the tears from Renly’s cheeks. It was strange how quickly she had grown to love this boy. He was not always an easy boy – prone to throwing tantrums, sometimes very difficult and demanding, and desperate for attention in the way that her own brothers never were – but Lyanna had grown to love the boy nonetheless.

“Stannis is not here! He left us. He left us, and now you’re leaving me too. Everybody leaves,” Renly said, his voice muffled by his sobs and the tears.

“Stannis didn’t want to leave us. And I don’t want to leave you now. But sometimes grown-ups have to do things we don’t want to do, Renly.”

 _Sometimes_. Even _that_ was a lie. ‘Most of the time’ would be closer to the truth, Lyanna thought. But Renly was only a boy, and he was having enough trouble dealing with all the departures as it was.  

In the end, Lyanna and Ned left Storm’s End before dawn, when Renly was still sleeping. Maester Cressen escorted them to the gate. “It will be better for Renly not to see you leave, my lady,” Cressen had counseled her.

“I should have gone with Stannis to King’s Landing from the start,” Lyanna said to her brother, halfway through their journey. They had traveled in silence for the most part, both lost in their own thoughts and fears.

“What good would that have done, Lya?” Ned asked gently. “Stannis has nothing to do with Father’s arrest.”

“We don’t know that,” Lyanna said, looking away, refusing to meet her brother’s eyes. “We _don’t_. Maybe he is a witness too. For the crown. Or maybe he was the one who informed on Father and Rhaegar to the king.”

“Do you really believe that of your husband?”

“I don’t know what to believe. It was too much of a coincidence, Father getting arrested as soon as he left Storm’s End. After Stannis wrote to say that Father could not stay a guest under our roof if he persisted on plotting against the king.”

“Stannis is serving as Hand of the King. Father was putting him in an untenable position. Surely you must see that, Lya.”

Lyanna sighed. “I know. I do see that. But I can’t help wondering … if perhaps … if the Crown Prince had not been Rhaegar, had not been the man who … the one –“

“The man you loved,” Ned continued for his sister.

“The man Stannis thought I loved,” Lyanna amended her brother’s statement. “Maybe Stannis would have joined Father in his plan. It was not war Father and Rhaegar and the other lords were looking for. They wanted a Great Council.”

Even as Lyanna was saying the words, she doubted her own conclusion. Duty was her husband’s god. He had a duty to his king, Stannis had told her, when he left to take up the appointment as Hand of the King. Even if Rhaegar had not been Rhaegar, even if Rhaegar had never held Lyanna’s hand, had never whispered sweet words in her ears, had never tempted her to flee with him, his duty to his king would still be foremost in Stannis’ mind.

She didn’t know if that made things better, or worse.

“A Great Council to choose a new king, and to set King Aerys aside,” Ned reminded her. “Even if they were not looking for war, King Aerys would be giving them one. He is hardly likely to sit around doing nothing, watching them depose him in favor of his son.”

“He might not have had the choice, if no support is for him is forthcoming from any lord. Father brings the might of the North, Lord Tully the Riverlands, Lord Arryn the Vale. Prince Doran is Rhaegar’s own good-brother, so Rhaegar would have Dorne’s support as well. If the Stormlands were to join them, then –“

“It would still leave the might of Highgarden and Casterly Rock on the king’s side, along with the Targaryen loyalists. And I am not so certain that Doran Martell is on Rhaegar’s side,” Ned said.

“Because the king named Prince Doran as one of the three judges in the trial?”

Ned nodded. “The king named Tywin Lannister and Mace Tyrell as the judges because he knew he could count on their support. It must have been the same for Doran Martell.”

“Then the trial is a farce! Father would have been better off demanding a trial by combat.”

“I suspect it will come to that, in the end,” Ned said, sadly.

Lyanna regarded her brother thoughtfully. “Is that why you insisted on coming with me to King’s Landing? So you can serve as Father’s champion, if it truly comes to trial by combat.”

Ned turned his face away. “I couldn’t let you travel to King’s Landing alone accompanied only by strange guards in your condition, Lya.” He paused, before continuing. “What I do not understand is how King Aerys could be certain of Doran Martell’s support. Rhaegar is the husband of Prince Doran’s sister, the father to his niece and nephew. Why would Prince Doran side with the king and not with Rhaegar?”

Lyanna recalled the look of fury and hatred on Oberyn Martell’s face on the night of Rhaegar’s nameday feast, and she knew the answer to Ned’s question. “Because he shamed her. Rhaegar shamed Princess Elia, and he shamed Dorne, when he named me queen of love and beauty at Harrenhal over his own wife.”

“But what about Rhaegar’s son? Prince Doran’s own nephew. If Prince Aegon’s father is found guilty of treason –“

“I suspect the king has promised Prince Doran that Prince Aegon’s position would not be threatened. Prince Aegon would be named Crown Prince in place of his traitorous father, and Princess Elia would stay on in court as the mother to the Crown Prince, the heir to the throne,” Lyanna replied.

“And she would agree to this, Princess Elia?”

She loved him, Lyanna thought. That was the worst of it. Elia Martell loved her husband, even after he had betrayed her, even after he had shamed her for all the world to see.

Could Lyanna say the same about her feelings for her own husband? She didn’t know. That was the worst of it; that she had not known, and still did not know.

 


	32. Stannis XVI

In the end choices were not really choices at all. A mirage at best.

“Brandon had a choice. He had a choice to believe me when I told him you are not dead, that you are sitting in the black cell awaiting trial.”

“Why should he believe you? The king himself told Brandon he already had me killed for my supposed treason. Without trial, without justice.”

“I told Brandon the truth.” _Defied the king and told Brandon Stark the truth about his father’s fate._ “Why should he doubt my words?” _And why was he such a reckless fool to call the king a murderer, to shout and proclaim it loudly for all the world to hear?_  

“You are the King’s Hand. My men and I were arrested as soon as we left your castle. They were waiting for us outside the gates of Storm’s End, the king’s men. Do you really wonder why Brandon did not trust in your words?”

“Lie _s_ ,” Brandon Stark had shouted in the throne room. “You are trying to shield your mad king even now. Even after he murdered the father of your own wife, grandfather to your unborn child.”

“It’s the truth,” Stannis had insisted, futilely. “Ask the Kingsguards. Tell him, Ser Gerold.” The old bull stayed silent, intent only on doing his duty and protecting his king. “Ser Barristan, tell him,” Stannis exhorted the Kingsguard who had once told him that sometimes a king needed to be protected from himself. But perhaps Barristan Selmy’s conscience was only pricked when it came to Queen Rhaella, for he stayed silent, this time. All six of the Kingsguards stayed silent, out of duty, mindful of the vows they took; or perhaps, mindful also of the fate of one of their own sworn brothers Arthur Dayne, currently languishing in the dungeon for daring to defy the king.

They stayed silent when Aerys pronounced Brandon Stark a traitor to the realm for threatening the king’s life. They stayed silent when Brandon Stark demanded a trial by combat. They stayed silent during Stannis’s long entreaties for Brandon to rescind his demand for  atrial by combat and for the king to try Brandon alongside Rickard Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. They stayed silent as Aerys made a mocking game of picking his champion.

“Will you be my champion, Stannis? My Hand, my right-hand man, will you serve as your king’s champion to defeat this traitor?”

_My father, my brother. Who else would you betray, Stannis, for the sake of your king? For the sake of duty?_

_I didn’t betray anyone!_

“There is no need for a trial by combat, Your Grace. Brandon Stark needs only to be told the truth about his father’s fate, and he will bend the knee and beg for your pardon.”

Aerys stood, trembling with fury. “The truth? Are you calling me a liar, Stannis?”

Stannis did not falter. “We both know Rickard Stark is alive in the black cell. A trial date has been set, and the judges are on their way to King’s Landing at this very moment. You agreed to this. You told me to go ahead and write the letters telling the judges and witnesses to come to King’s Landing for the trial. Lord Stark is alive. He is not dead.”

Aerys smiled, a chilling smile. “That’s what _you_ think.”

For a moment, Stannis faltered. But surely … if Rickard Stark had been executed, he would have known?

_Wouldn’t he?_

“But you have decided to hold a trial, Your Grace. That was your command.”

“No, _you_ whispered endlessly in my ears about trials and witnesses and judges. Oh they warned me about you! You and those traitorous wolves you now call family. You have been working for the Starks all along. You wouldn’t betray me for Rhaegar’s sake, I know that well enough, but I should have known you would betray me for your wife and her family.”

 _They_? Who were _they_? Varys? The voices in Aerys’head?

“I should have believed them when they warned me about your treachery. But I was a fool. I looked at you and I saw your father’s face. Dear Cousin Steffon’s face. He would _never_ have betrayed me! Not for anyone, not even his wife or her family.”  

“I have never betrayed you, Your Grace.”

“You are not worthy to be Steffon’s son. You won’t do as my champion after all, Stannis. I need a more reliable champion. A Targaryen champion.”

 _A Targaryen champion?_ Did the king mean to force his son Rhaegar to be his champion and battle Brandon Stark to death? It was monstrous. And yet, to a mind like Varys’, whose words proved to be far more successful in influencing the king than Stannis, it must have seemed like a brilliant solution to an intractable problem. Whoever lost, be it Rhaegar or Brandon, it would rid the king of one problem, at least.

But as it turned out, even Varys was out of his depth this time. Aerys was not listening to anyone – not Stannis, not Varys, not anyone – only to the voices in his own head. The champion he picked was more monstrous than anything Stannis could conceive.

“Did he scream? Did my son scream?”

 _Murderers. You are all murderers_ , Brandon had shouted, when the flame started to rise. _Is this how you murdered my father?_

Brandon was still shouting as the fire consumed him, but the words were no longer decipherable.

“They did nothing to stop it? They did nothing to help my son? The Kingsguards?”

“Their duty is to the king, to protect the king,” Stannis replied, tonelessly repeating the words Gerald Hightower and Barristan Selmy had told him as they were dragging Stannis out of the throne room.

“You tried to stop it. That’s why you’re here now.”

“It was wrong. It was unjust. Brandon demanded a trial by combat, against the king’s champion. Against a man he could battle fairly and squarely, not against … _that_.” Stannis could hear the screams still. Could smell the burning flesh still. Could feel the heat of the hungry flames still. When words and pleas had failed to move the king, Stannis tried to grab hold of Brandon, only to have the flames licking his own hands and arms.

Aerys had laughed, a high, maniacal laugh that seemed to go on forever. “Do you want to battle my true champion too, Stannis? The pyre is big enough for two.” But then Aerys’ gaze had wandered to that portrait of Rhaelle Targaryen holding the babe Steffon in her arms, and he ordered Stannis to be dumped in the black cell instead.  

“You should have been the king’s cousin and his childhood companion. Perhaps then he would have spared your son’s life too,” Stannis said. He started laughing, uncontrollably. The laughter trailed off into a sob. “I’m sorry.”

The face looking down on Stannis had tears falling down his cheeks. Stannis blinked, and suddenly it was his father’s face he saw, not Rickard Stark’s. “Father,” he called out.

“Your father is not here.”

“Are you a ghost?”

“My son is dead. I might as well be.”

But then the ghost who might not be a ghost started yelling at the guards demanding to know when the maester would come, and Stannis’ last thought before losing consciousness was that a ghost could not possibly be shouting that many swear words.

 


	33. Lyanna XVII

She knew it from the horrified look on Ned’s face as Barristan Selmy whispered the words into Ned’s ear. Death. Death had made itself known, not on the wings of a raven and ink scratched on parchment, but from the mouth of a knight in white cloak, who was not wearing his customary Kingsguard garb at the moment.

The Stranger, reaching out with his cold, clammy hands. That god, alone among the Seven, who no one sang songs about, and very rarely lit candles for, blithely claiming another life.

She had not expected this, when they first came across Barristan Selmy. “I come bearing a message from Queen Rhaella,” Ser Barristan had told them, when he intercepted Ned and Lyanna before they could enter King’s Landing. He insisted that they stopped at an inn before he would relay the message. Ned agreed readily, but Lyanna was more wary.

“What if the king was the one who sent him, to arrest us, or to do some harm to us?” Lyanna  whispered furiously.

“We’re going into the city in any case, Lya. The king can arrest us at any time once we’re there.”

“Yes, but I am one of the witnesses for the trial. Once we are already seen entering King’s Landing, questions will be asked if we suddenly disappear. But making us disappear now is a different and easier matter altogether.”

Ned glanced at Barristan Selmy. “Ser Barristan is a man of honor. He would not lie to entrap us. Treachery is not in his nature.”

“Oh Ned, don’t be naïve! What do you know about his nature? Ser Barristan is a member of the Kingsguard. He will do whatever the king commands him to do, his honor notwithstanding.”

Their back-and-forth whispering had caught the attention of Ser Barristan. It was Lyanna he addressed himself to, this time. “Your husband predicted you would be wary and suspicious, my lady.”

Startled, Lyanna asked, “My husband? I thought you said you came with a message from Queen Rhaella?”

“I did, my lady. But the Queen has been to see your husband, and I am to tell you that he believes that you are right after all, about Durran’s and Elenei’s regrets. For regret is indeed inevitable, when people have acted in a foolish and irresponsible manner.”

 _Durran and Elenei were foolish and irresponsible. They thought of nothing and no one except themselves_ , Stannis had said, his voice grim and disapproving, recounting the story of the building of Storm’s End. A story that was more often told as the story of true love conquering all, rather than about the recklessness of two young lovers. Stannis’ assessment of the situation had been too harsh for Lyanna’s liking, and she had told him so. At the same time, she did also wonder if Elenei ever regretted it, if there were moments late at night, perhaps, when Elenei was consumed by the thoughts of her father the sea-god and her mother the goddess of the wind, forever separated from her by her now mortal state. Or if Durran ever regretted it; if he ever looked at Elenei in later years and wondered whether their love was worth all the blood of his kinsmen and kinswomen that had soiled the Stormlands.

There was no way Barristan Selmy could have known about that conversation between husband and wife. The message must truly be from Stannis. It did not strike her as odd until much later, how quickly she had agreed to follow Ser Barristan to the inn, once she was convinced of that. After all, she had been harboring doubts about her husband’s complicity in her father’s arrest; had been suspecting that Stannis, with his insistence on duty, had chosen his king over his family after all.

And yet, despite all that, she had implicitly trusted - had taken for granted, in fact - that Stannis would never be a party to anything that would put her in harm’s way. Not just for the sake of the child she was carrying – _his_ child – but also for herself, Lyanna Stark, his wife. Was that foolishness and naivety on her part? Was it love? Or merely marriage?

Once they were safely inside the room in the modest inn with the door locked and the windows closed, Ser Barristan kept glancing with concern at Lyanna’s growing belly. When he finally spoke, it was to Ned that he addressed his words, speaking so softly Lyanna could not hear what he was saying.

“What is it?” Lyanna demanded, her voice sharp. And then she saw the way Ned’s face crumpled, and she  _knew_.

_Oh Father, what have they done to you? What have I done to you?_

The scream died in her throat before it could be let out. She dug her nails into her flesh to stifle her tears, to strangle her sobs. What right did she have to flaunt her despair and her grief after all? She had done this, hadn’t she? She and Stannis between them, insisting that her father had to leave Storm’s End, only for him to be immediately arrested by the king’s men outside the gate. She had betrayed her father, or, to put it more charitably, she had allowed herself to be used as a tool for her husband to betray her father; which came down to the same thing, as far as Lyanna was concerned.

She dared not even begged for forgiveness from her father, knowing that she had no right to it at all.

 _How do you choose, when there are no good choices left? When all routes lead to danger and ruin?_  That had been the question vexing Lyanna for a long time; although in truth, she had been thinking mainly of her father’s choice, of her husband’s choice, even her brothers’, not her own. But when it came right down to it, she had made her choice after all, hadn’t she? She had chosen her husband over her father, and her father had paid for it with his life.

This time, her scream could not be stifled any longer. Sinking down to her knees, she called out for her father, over and over again. Ned rushed to her. “Lya,” he repeated, “Lya,” he kept saying, over and over again.

“It’s not Father,” he said, when she finally looked at him. “It’s Brandon.”

 _Brandon?_ It could not be, Lyanna protested. Brandon was safe in Winterfell. There must have been a mistake.  _A mistake_ ,  _or_ , her voice rising,  _a lie_. Some kind of plot to prevent them from going to King’s Landing for their father’s trial. Lyanna rambled on and on while Ned buried his face in his hands.

“Lya,” he called out her name once more, and she knew, then, that it was the truth after all.

“How did he die, Ned?”

“Later,” Ned said, trying to get her to rise from the floor. “When you are calmer, Lya.”

“Now,” she insisted. “Tell me now, Ned!” She was pleading with him now, no longer insisting.

Ned tried, but he found the words too painful to say out loud. Ser Barristan took over, repeating what he had told Ned earlier.

Holding on to her brother’s arms, Lyanna rose slowly from the floor. Ned led her to the bed, where she sat down, sinking heavily.

Her poor brother. Her poor, poor brother. Dying so horribly, in so much pain. And his wife now a widow. And for what? Why had he been so reckless? Oh she was so angry with Brandon! How could he have acted so impulsively?  

_“We’re too much alike, Lya. That’s why you prefer Ned to me.”_

She had laughed, hearing that. “ _What nonsense, Brandon. I love all my brothers equally_ ,” she had replied, adding silently,  _we’re nothing alike_. But she had been reckless too, once. Had pulled back from the brink just before it was too late. Brandon was never given that chance.

“The king murdered my brother,” Lyanna said, horrifed, as the full implication of Barristan Selmy’s words finally dawned on her. “King Aerys murdered Brandon Stark, the heir to Lord of Winterfell, without any charge, without any trial.”

Looking uncomfortable, Ser Barristan said, “Your brother was charged with inciting treason. And he did demand a trial by combat.”

“Which is his right,” Ned interjected. “How could the king burn him for that?”

“His Grace named fire as his champion,” Ser Barristan said, his voice toneless.

“His Grace!” Lyanna recoiled with anger. “He is a cold-blooded murderer, yet you still –“ Lyanna stopped herself abruptly, realizing the futility of a long tirade. There was no point berating Ser Barristan; the man was who he was.

“The maester said Lord Stannis’ injuries are not life-threatening,” Ser Barristan was saying, “although he cannot be certain why the fever has not receded. Your father is with him in the same cell, so he is not alone and uncared for, thank the gods.”

“My husband?” Lyanna asked, her voice strangled. What had she missed, when Barristan Selmy was speaking earlier? The thought of Brandon dead had overwhelmed everything.

Ser Barristan looked confused. “Yes, my lady. As I told you –“

“Tell me again,” Lyanna said, willing her voice to sound calm, pushing down the agitation, the panic, the frenzy.

He told her, and then said, “There is more. My lady, I come to you and your brother for the sake of Queen Rhaella, but the words I bring are in truth from Lord Rickard and Lord Stannis.”

Lyanna nodded, telling him to continue.

When Ser Barristan had finished speaking, Lyanna rose from the bed,  put on her cloak with her hands still shaking and said, “I am ready now, Ser Barristan.”

“Lya –“ Ned protested.

“You must wait for me here, Ned.”


	34. Stannis XVII

“How is he?”

“The fever has come down.”

“Silly boy. Why did he not say anything about falling and hurting himself?”

“He does not want us finding out that it happened while he was trying to make Proudwing fly again, I expect.”

“Uncle Harbert was right. That bird is damaged. It will never fly again, no matter how hard Stannis tries to train it, no matter how much he wills it.”

“Try telling your son that. You know how stubborn he can be. In any case, you were the one who encouraged him, who told him not to give up.”

“We’ll find him another goshawk. Or a gyrfalcon, like Robert’s Thunderclap.”

“It will not be the same as the bird he found and nursed back to health himself.”

 “It will have to do.”

“And how did you find the king, husband?”

“Worse and worse. I fear –“

“Father?”

His father’s hand was on his forehead; warm, capable,  _living_.

“She  _flew_ ,” Stannis said. “Proudwing flew. Only as high as the treetops, true, but she flew. She did!” Stannis opened his eyes, but it was not his father’s face hovering over him.

“Proudwing was your bird, I expect?” Rickard Stark asked. There were dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes.

Stannis finally remembered where he was.  _No no no no!_

 _“_ It is what it is, lad. No use pretending otherwise _,”_ Great Uncle Harbert would have said.

“Try another bird. This one is not worth all that hard work,” Great Uncle Harbert had told Stannis.

“This king is not worth all your loyalty,” Great Uncle Harbert had told Stannis’ father, when Steffon Baratheon was summoned to court to serve in the small council.

 “This king is not worth the lives of my nephew and his lady wife,” Great Uncle Harbert had told the sons of Steffon Baratheon, after they were orphaned.   

“This king is not worth your strict, unwavering adherence to duty,” Rickard Stark had warned Stannis.

“Proudwing was my goshawk,” Stannis replied.  

Rickard nodded. “Brandon had a goshawk,” he began, his voice hoarse and weary, infinitely weary, his eyes gazing off into the distance. “Brandon called her the Wandering Wolf. He was very proud of that bird. ‘ _It is not a wolf, son_ ,’ I told him once, in jest. Brandon laughed. ‘ _Father, you have no imagination_ ,’ he said. “ _See, she’s howling to the moon_ ,  _calling out for her pack._ ’ Brandon has a lively imagination, like your little brother Renly.”

 _Had_ , Stannis thought. Brandon  _had_ , not  _has_. He had made the same mistake talking about his mother and father, for many moons after their death. The dead no longer had the right for the present, or the future for that matter, only the past. That applied to words as much as it did to anything else.  

“Did Brandon name his goshawk after his lady mother’s father?”

Rickard looked up in surprise. “So you know about Rodrik Stark.”

“Your good-father.”

“And my grandfather’s youngest brother. Lyarra was my cousin.” His voice caught, saying the name of his lady wife. When he spoke again, it was not Stannis he was addressing. “Our  _boy_ , Lyarra. Our Brandon.” He wept, then, Lord Stark of Winterfell, grieving father, a widower for many years standing, stuck in a dark, dank dungeon with only the good-son he never entirely trusted as company.

Stannis looked away. He stayed still, very still.  

“I have embarrassed you,” Rickard said, when the tears finally ceased flowing.

“No. But my father once said a man must be allowed to grieve in peace, to shed his tears without the whole world hovering over him.”

“Did you weep, when you lost your father and mother?”    

“What happened to Brandon’s Wandering Wolf?” Stannis asked, ignoring Rickard’s question.

“One day, not long after Brandon’s thirteenth nameday, she flew away and never returned. Brandon was not distraught, to my surprise. ‘ _She has gone on a great adventure, Father. Not for the likes of her, this calm, tame life,_ ’ Brandon told me. ‘ _She has the wolf-blood in her, my Wandering Wolf_.’ Brandon has it too, the touch of the wolf-blood. Lyanna as well.”

“You are  _all_  wolves, the Starks,” Stannis said, uncomprehending.

“They were restless, the both of them. Never could stay still, as far back as when they were in their mother’s womb. Always looking for something, searching for god knows what.  _Like my father_ , Lyarra used to say.”

“She was looking to make her own choices,” Stannis said.

“Who?”

 _I would have paid the price willingly_ , Lyanna had told her husband,  _if I knew it was the result of my own folly, and not the folly of others._   _But I forgot to account for the price other people would have to pay, for my folly._    

 _You remembered. You remembered in time, and that stayed your hand_.  

Did she know, about her brother? Had she been told? Had she even been told the same lie about her father’s fate, as Brandon was? The thought of her pain was more wrenching than the burns in his arms.   

 _You will survive this. You will live through it. I did_ , he promised her, in his head.  

But where was the comfort in that? There was surviving, and then there was actually  _living_  that was more than just the act of still drawing breath.  

“I have always wondered, you know. What would have happened if your lord father had been made Hand of the King, as Aerys planned,” Rickard Stark suddenly said.

Stannis thought he had misheard at first, intent as he was on the thought of his wife. Or had grief so confused and overwhelmed his good-father? “My father was made Master of Laws, not Hand of the King, when His Grace summoned him to court,” Stannis pointed out, not unkindly.  

 

Rickard stared at Stannis, incredulous. “You mean to tell me you never knew?”

“Knew what, my lord?”

“He never said a word, your father?”

“About what?”

“What did he tell you, before he sailed to Volantis with your lady mother?”

“That the king has entrusted him with an important mission across the Narrow Sea, to find a bride with the blood of Old Valyria for Prince Rhaegar.”

“And that was all?”  

Stannis nodded.

“Did you truly never wonder, why your father was the one entrusted with that task? Not Aerys’ lord Hand at the time, say. Not Tywin Lannister himself.”

Stannis frowned. “My father was His Grace’s own cousin. And Lord Tywin would have been preoccupied with his duties as Hand. It did not seem such a strange notion, to send my father.”

Rickard laughed. The sound was jarring in that confined space. “That was exactly what your father told Lord Arryn, before he departed. ‘ _There are always rumors, Jon. Only fools pay any heed to foolish words_ ,  _and we are not fools, you and I_ ,’ he said.”

Oh those words! His father’s words, Stannis recognized them at once. Steffon Baratheon had said them to his sons often enough, although the phrasing was slightly different.  _Only fools pay any heed to foolish words, and I have not been raising fools, I sincerely hope._

 _What else do you know, Lord Stark? What else do you know about my father?_ Stannis hungered to ask.“What rumors?” He asked instead.

“I have almost forgotten,” Rickard said, “how well and truly Steffon Baratheon kept his sons away from court.”   

“Robert spent some time in court, after he became Lord of Storm’s End,” Stannis disagreed.

“That was after your father’s death. How often did your father take you to court, when you and Robert were boys? Why were neither of you sent to court to serve as a royal page or a royal squire, when you are related to the king by blood? “

“My father thought it craven, to seek favors from the king just because we are related by blood,” Stannis replied.

“Your lord father was sent to court to serve as a royal page, and then a royal squire. His own father – your grandfather – did not think it craven to seek a position for his son in court.”

“That was different!” Stannis exclaimed. “King Aegon was my father’s Targaryen grandsire. He was the one who commanded that my father be sent to court.”    

“Your father knew what his cousin was, the kind of man his cousin had turned into. That was why he strove to keep his sons away from court, to protect you from the king. And yet he refused to join us in our plan, to protect the entire realm from Aerys’ madness. How selfish was that? How self-centered was he being? Was he not being craven in his own way?”

Stannis’ hand closed on Rickard Stark’s throat. For a moment, he forgot everything – forgot that this man was his good-father, forgot that this man had cradled Stannis’ head in his arms when the fever was at its height, when he was mumbling incoherent words about the distant past, like his own father used to do when he was ill as a boy. He remembered only the ugly words, the lies Rickard Stark had spoken about his father. “How dare you? You know  _nothing_  about my father,” Stannis shouted.

 _My father, Stannis. That is my father_.  _Tell me this is not your doing_. Lyanna’s voice in his head brought him back to his senses. He released his hold on her father’s throat, brought his hand down to his sides, his nails digging at his own flesh instead of her father’s.

Coughing and spluttering, Rickard asked, “And how well do you know your own father, Stannis?”

“I know that he was not craven. I know  _that_ , if nothing else. I know that he believed His Grace was not beyond the pale … that something could still be done. I know he believed it was his duty to try, for the realm’s sake. If he refused to join in whatever schemes you were planning, it was because he did not wish to see the realm bleeds.”

“And do you still believe that the king is not beyond the pale?”

“My father did not see what I saw in that throne room. He could not have known. And if he had lived - ”

“If he had lived?”

 _Only a fool would refuse to see the truth, when it is staring them right in the face_.

Stannis closed his eyes.  _Father, I do not want to see it._

_You must, my son. You of all people, Stannis._

“Your father failed in his mission. He did not find a bride for Rhaegar,” Rickard Stark said. “What do you think the king would have done, if that storm had not robbed your father of his life?”

He knew the answer, didn’t he? He had smelled the burning flesh in the throne room after all, had heard Brandon Stark’s screams.

He sent the message to Lyanna.


End file.
